


Out On The Rocks

by HarleyMischief



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe - Pirate, BBC Sherlock - Freeform, Fantasy, Johnlock - Freeform, M/M, Merman John, Mermen, Pirate Sherlock, Piratelock, Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-17
Updated: 2013-05-02
Packaged: 2017-11-14 10:41:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 23
Words: 24,207
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/514377
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HarleyMischief/pseuds/HarleyMischief
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John is a merman forcefully captured and brought aboard the ship of Captain Sherlock Holmes. Curiosity and companionship bring them together but in the end will what saves them be the thing to tear them apart? rated M for later chapters.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Like a Fish Out of Water.

Chapter One.

Like a fish out of water.

John had been resting in the cove for a few days tending to his injury. The pirates that sailed through the western channels were ferocious and particularly suspicious so when they had found a merman wrestling his way out of one of their nets they had been hostile. John had gotten away lightly really. A deep wound to his left shoulder that would heal in time. Yes it would scar, but better that than dead. He clambered up onto seaworn black rocks, letting his blue tail splash in the water as the sun beat down over him, warming the skin of his chest pleasantly and flashing in patterns and shimmers off of his scales and reflections bouncing from the water surface. The water was reasonably still here, so different from the open ocean but it was also lonely, those who came here mostly did so by accident and as soon as they saw him they feared him though he was a lot less of a danger than the other merpeople who lived in colonies. It had been years ago now that he had decided to separate and live alone. He didn't have a natural hate for the human race or the underlying rage that seemed to afflict the majority of his species. He understood humans to be much like themselves. Good and bad, given morals and perhaps led to follow them in the wrong way but surely that was the same as any species. John looked up into the horizon as shadows loomed over the passing sun, the tell tale silhouette of ship flags black in the daylight. Slowly and without making a sound or a ripple he dipped back into the water, eyes resting just above the surface keeping a steady watch as the bow of the ship parted the waves before it, small aftershocks of water causing John to bob in his hiding place as he swayed his tail slowly against the current to keep still.

Silently he dipped under the water, letting it engulf him completely. John had never been shy or cautious and despite his injury he was curious. He batted his tail through the water, feeling little resistance as he moved forward with relative ease except the occasional twinge of pain radiating from his wounded shoulder. Soon enough the wooden keel of the ship came into view and he moved slowly up to the surface, careful not to disturb the water as he broke through and gazed up at the ship. The sails were blowing in the wind. Black and torn in some places allowing for streaks of sunlight to struggle through and bounce delicately from the water. Going against his better judgment he swam closer watching with narrowed eyes as men worked along the deck, climbing the poles that precariously shook as the wind blew. It fascinated him. To live and walk on land and not be trapped by the confines of the sea. The ocean was wide and beautiful, but the earth was life. It meant freedom to come and go. Acceptance. He envied them for having the choice between the two when he would be here in this solitude forever. More than anything he wanted to be able to approach them. After being alone for so long eventually you forgot the sound of a soft voice or amiable conversation but there would be none of that found here. Of that at least he was sure. He sighed and began to sway his tail softly, eyes facing up and fixed on the buzzing movement about him. Roaming over the strong hull and starboard side of the ship until he caught a glimpse of a single man, dark wild curls whipping in the wind and the face of a ghost. Pale, ethereal. He was captivating.

There was something about the way the elements themselves seemed to bend for him as he stood proudly looking off into the middle distance. He didn't sway in the wind or stumble with the slow rock of the ship, he stood stone still hands clasped firmly at his hips as the ripped black tail of his coat billowed around him. John just couldn't tear his eyes away. All sense concerning his surroundings and situation lost in the moment he had looked upon that solitary man who could only be the ships captain. Danger and authority just seemed to radiate from him like heat rays from the blinding sun overpowering everything around it but at the same time everything it reached just became more beautiful and so it was with this human. The teals and sapphires of the ocean and sky resonated with new life. Colour as he had never seen before. The world painted as a new picture and it was the man stood sentient above him that held the tools in his stance, his eyes just the mere complexion of his skin. John was no mythical creature, no gift of nature or illogical being not compared to that - wonder. It was the last free thought he had, the last one he chose to think before his mind was rent apart by incomprehensible pain. A hot slash of white fire cracking like a whip of nails over his neck and arms. His first reaction was to struggle but with each miniscule movement the pain increased tenfold until his vision blurred and his body swayed, the motion of his tail halting until he was sinking into cool comfortable darkness.

His body was burning. There was no other explanation and he dare not open his eyes to see the licking of the flames over freshly charred scales or skin and tail and bone blackening and turning to ash. John struggled to draw breath and even as he swallowed it down into his lungs no reprieve was handed to him. Someone near was screaming, howling cries of pain and pleas for mercy which fell heavily on deaf ears. Someone, someone was him and with the next flash of brutal fire his eyes snapped open. The world above him was little more than a fuzzy picture and the hard dry surface on which his back rested was like nothing he had ever felt before. If the pain in his head and the terrifying numbness of his tail fin weren't so immediate he may have been able to piece it together more quickly but as it was the realisation that he had been dragged and bound, taken from the water his body so desperately needed to survive seeped over him as a gradual awakening. Fear exploding like a death star as he struggled against his bonds and tried to communicate to the dark figures crowding over him. Each broken word that fell from his dry, sore lips was met with mockery and laughter. The noise quickly fading to the background again as he slowly began to lose consciousness for a second time only half aware in his dream like state of a low baritone voice floating to him from afar, but not speaking to him although he thought if he could have smiled the words would have made him do so. 'Why must I be surrounded by incompetent idiots. Water, he needs water. Really do I have to everything myself." And then, once more, it was black.

The second time John came around it was to the familiar sounds of splashing water and the taste of salt at his lips. He licked over them slowly noting as he did so that his whole body was throbbing with an aching sensation that reached from the tip of his tail to the very centre of his brain. Though unpleasant and disconcerting it was nothing compared to the burn. Water. Glorious, beautiful, required water was soothing over his abused chest and tail and for a moment he allowed himself the delusion that he would open his eyes and the ocean would be spread out as a blank canvas before him. The smell assaulting his nostrils told him different. Damp rotting wood and something distinctly human mixed ungraciously with the scent of salt water and he could have guessed his location before he opened his eyes to confirm it. Wreckages were not uncommon and to a merperson they could prove to be a valuable resource or hiding place. Humans after all weren't the only danger. In the dark eerie water where monsters lurked and crept, eyes open, sharp and ready to take whatever passed them by. He had hidden in and explored through enough broken down sunken ships to know he was being held in the ballast tank. The tank was deep enough for him to be able to move his tail beneath the water but it was only half full and it reached to about 6 times his length. He had been so concerned with his environment that he had failed to notice the gentle ripples passing him by, growing wider as they left their source. He turned slowly to the rough wooden stairs that led down to his prison where the dark haired man that had so engrossed him, to the point of danger sat with his bare feet skipping over the cool water as if he did this everyday.

For a long while they surveyed each other in silence. It was the closest John had ever been to a human and they fascinated him as a race but this man held more interest for him than an entire legion of his peers. Despite everything John felt no fear and moved forward, gripping the unsteady wooden banister and raising his chest out of water his tail moving back and forth beneath him. He eyed the quiet man with a fierce curiosity his eyes traveling slowly down his clothed body to decipher their similarities and differences. The man meanwhile turned his head to monitor John in his new position and as their eyes finally met he began to speak in a voice John recognised from the blackness and despair as the shining light.

"You are...Curious." The mysterious human flattened his feet on the damp step and crouched forward, twisting his body to bring his face close to John's. "English. Do you speak it?" He questioned his grey sharp eyes never once leaving John's and each word pronounced perfectly, every syllable distinguishable. John nodded but kept his mouth closed it wasn't that he didn't want to speak it was more that he just wanted to listen. The man's voice was a calming force, a gentle caress after the raw abrasion of pain.

"Do you have a name?" He asked, his voice showing no flicker of frustration with the lack of responsiveness.  
John swallowed hard and nodded once more but this time opened his mouth to speak. The utterance was hoarse and quiet. "John'.

"John..." There was something about the way the human repeated his name that made John's eyes widen. He nodded in affirmation and the man gave him a small interested smile. "It's nice to meet you John. I am Captain Sherlock Holmes and you are currently a...guest on my vessel." The man named Sherlock offered out his hand to John who stared at it dumbly and after a moment lent in a sniffed it. The Captain laughed. "You're meant to shake it." He provided.  
John raised a querying eye brow. "Why?" He muttered. Sherlock Holmes grinned down at him. "You know. I have absolutely no idea." And with those final words the oddity named Sherlock Holmes jumped to his feet and all but leapt up the wooden steps and out of sight leaving John if possible, more confused than before.


	2. What are you Scared of?

The setting sun was glowing orange through his grubby cabin windows as he sat at his oak desk. The surface once covered in maps and bearings which had been shoved recklessly to the floor replaced with old books and papers relating to beings of myth and legend. He blinked a few times as the old script blurred before his eyes and slammed the volume closed resting his tired head in the palms of his hands. His whole life had been centred around the search for knowledge even if his means of obtaining it were dubious, he was a pirate after all. But his treasure was not the same as that seeked by others of his profession or even the crew on his own ship. He didn't search for gold or material possessions the prizes he yearned for were answers. Yet somehow today he had come upon a question. John. Hardly a name you would associate with fantasy or myth but there it was. John the merman who by his own admission could speak English but didn't understand the social convention of a handshake and why should he? In a way Sherlock envied him for not being bound to such things. Life as a pirate allowed you a certain amount of freedom that couldn't be found in the growing modernising society flourishing back in England but at the same time there were rules to be followed, traditions and customs that couldn't be ignored no matter how much time he spent trying. John was free from that or at least it seemed so. He had nothing factual to base his research on, nothing more than moronic stories and unreliable statements of questionable sightings but now he had the proof of his own eyes and no idea what to make of it.

The first he had known of the creature even coming aboard was from loud shouts on deck as he stood at the bow of the ship. At first he had dismissed them. Cheap labour was hard to come by and his crew were hardly upstanding members of society. They drank and they made a lot of noise but they worked because they knew they would reap the rewards. Somehow he knew something was - different. They were surprised to see him, he hardly ever came out of his cabin but when they did they parted like the waves at his keel and there he was. Squirming, screaming like a dying animal. It was brutal and beautiful all at once as the long fishes tail thrashed and flailed. Blue green scales seamlessly turning into tanned human flesh. For a moment he had been speechless, just a moment. It was lucky really that the tank had been filled at all as it was hardly ever used. Sherlock would have called it fate if he believed in it. So he ordered the men to carry the creature down to the ballast tank and submerge him, dismissing them quickly and taking a seat on one of the lower steps. Watching. Observing.

It was these moments that Sherlock played over in his head. Dissecting and analysing each word and movement of the puzzle but nothing grew any clearer. He needed more information. It was vital. With one swift movement he was up out of his chair and stepping out of his cabin door onto the deck. It was unusually quiet. He knew the men were fearful of the old pirates tales, murderous alluring mermaids waiting on rocks to seduce unwitting sailors but he wasn't one to be outwitted by anything mystical or otherwise. He made his way down the rickety stairs to the water tank stopping at the same spot he had occupied hours previously and dropping down onto it. The creature was now completely submerged. Sherlock could see the outline of the long curved tail as a shadow beneath the water, causing slight disturbances at the surface as it moved from side to side.

"John?" He kept his voice soft expecting that John's hearing would substantially greater than that of a humans, especially when underwater and relying on the vibrations more than the actual sound. With that thought he reached forward and dipped a hand into the water, swirling it smoothly and watching the silhouette turn and rise. The merman's body moved with a grace absent from human movement, every turn and tilt was followed with fluidity.

"Did you hear me coming? Is that why you hid beneath the surface?" He asked, his voice tinged with curiosity. The merman looked at him and shook his head.

"I wasn't hiding." The creature moved closer. "I'm not scared of you Sherlock Holmes.". Sherlock's eyes widened at that. John's bravery reached far beyond his expectations perhaps even into the realms of stupidity, the merman was after all his captive.

"I took you prisoner. Pulled you away from your home and you say you don't fear me?" Sherlock raised an eyebrow in question.

John frowned back at him. "It wasn't you. I was watching you when..." He paused. "Just before it happened." John's voice became quiet. "You helped me."

"Helped you?" Sherlock sat back resting his back on the ledge of the step just one higher and lightly tapped his forefinger on his bottom lip. "You mean with the water? Yes well..." He shrugged. "I wasn't going to let you expire simply because I'm surrounded by idiots." He shot John a small smile. "Besides. I'd find you a lot less interesting if you were dead."

John blinked and looked away. "Well, thank you."

Sherlock shook his head. "Don't thank me, my reasons were entirely selfish. You know you won't be going back there don't you?" He was interested to see what the merman thought the outcome of all this would be. He watched as John seemed to contemplate it. He swam closer, stopping just inches from Sherlock's feet and their eyes met.

"I don't mind. I was lonely. Now I'm not." He smiled but it faltered. "Do I scare you?". John asked.

Sherlock answered with a small shake of his head. "The crew fear you. I find fear only gets in the way of solving the problem." Sherlock let out a small incredulous laugh. "And you are a problem aren't you." Sherlock rested his elbows onto his knees to enable himself to lean further over the water, closer to the enigma eyeing him so inquisitively.

"You say you were lonely. Are there no more of you?" Sherlock inquired, eyes flickering up the half submerged tail as it gently swayed beneath the surface.

The creature's eye narrowed. "Why? Would you seek them out if there were?".

Sherlock allowed himself a few seconds to think on the question. He answered slowly with carefully chosen words. "If you are compliant I have no real need to waste time searching for another now do I?'.

John frowned back at him, voice weary as he spoke. "Compliant?"

Sherlock tilted his head slightly to the side. "Yes. In helping me with my studies and experiments."

"You want to study me?"

"Obviously." With that Sherlock got to his feet and turned to climb back up onto the deck, looking back only once to see the shadow of the merman ripple once more beneath the surface.


	3. Disposable

He didn't remember falling asleep. It wasn't until his body registered small vibrations in the water that he awoke and for a moment thought that perhaps it had all been some strange dream. John turned his head slowly as he opened his eyes and stretched out beneath the water. Flexing his tail to and fro before rising up to the surface and peering around the tank. Sherlock was back, this time gripping onto a small leather bound notebook and a delicately carved wooden case. John eyed the items suspiciously. So he was about to find out what exactly the human had meant by 'experiments'. The thought made him shudder. He had heard things before, just whispers. Of how humans used their status and technology to abuse other species for knowledge and their own benefit. It had been reasonably easy to dismiss, until now. John swam closer, stopping just short of the wooden steps. Mixing in distastefully with the nervousness was hunger, he hadn't been fed since his capture and before then hadn't eaten since the previous evening. At first it had been easy to ignore with the adrenaline and excitement but now it felt like a brick in his stomach, ever present. Sherlock had remained silent his eyes never leaving John for a second surprisingly it unnerved him like it hadn't before and he wished he could swim away to some distant shore. To hide away from sharp unwavering eyes and this feeling of foreboding that was causing his skin to itch.

"What do you want?" John muttered quietly. He found himself unable to muster the same interest he had been capable of during their two previous exchanges. Something had changed in the dynamic. Sherlock was the scientist, he was the study. It was a slow but startling realistation that came with the uncomfortable knowledge that once this was over he would almost certainly be disposable. Sherlock didn't answer straight away and John got the inexplicable feeling that Sherlock was simply deciding how to begin.

"I told you. I have research to do." Finally when Sherlock did speak John found no solace in the words, each one only working to add to the fear that was building up uneasily inside of him. John nodded slowly but proceeded to dip lower into the water so only his eyes peered above the surface. To him the cool salt liquid was like a haven. He knew too well that if Sherlock was so inclined he could step into the pool and take what he wanted but to him it was a comfort, to be surrounded by something so familiar, something that reminded him of home. Instead of speaking again Sherlock gave John a small smile and went about opening up the case laying on the step beside him. Curiosity was enough to bring John back up a few inches so he could view the contents. There were a few things John was unfamiliar with, objects that he had never laid eyes on before but then there was the knife which Sherlock was currently taking in his hand. Inspecting the blade with delicate fingers.

"What do you want?" John asked again, unable to find the words to create a new question as his brain went into overdrive. He may not be a human. May not have seen the world in the way the pirate captain had but he had killed to eat. Sharpened rocks had sufficed until he had come across a small blade in a wreckage a few miles from the cove. He had also been injured by human tools of destruction, as testament his shoulder throbbed painfully.

Apparently his question had not been worth answering. The man before him rolled up his sleeves past his elbows revealing more of the porcelain skin John had found so appealing just a day previous but now he wanted to run from it. Now he could see small scars and marks, the fiery red of a 'P' that had been brandished on his wrist acting like a centrepiece. Finally Sherlock stood. Bending down he rolled up the length of his trousers to above the knee and stepped down a few steps. The water splashed over his calves and John could feel every small movement tingling over his scales and skin. John swam back, shaking his head fiercely. His eyes glued to the gleaming knife blade as he backed away.

Sherlock raised an eyebrow. "I thought you were going to make this easy." He sighed. "But if I have to go and retrieve a member of my crew they will be far less gentle than me, I can promise you that."

John's eyes were wide with fear but the idea of brutal hands forcing him to the dry ground was enough to bring him forward though his body still remained mostly submerged.

"You don't have to do that." He whispered, not once meeting the other man's eyes."Just tell me what you need me to do."

John was well aware that there was no point fighting. He was caged, trapped like an animal and the man in front of him would get what he wanted eventually. The threat in his voice had told John that so surely it would be easier this way. To submit and accept whatever was about to happen to him.

"I need you on your back, tail facing towards me. Understand?" Sherlock's voice was cold and demanding but the instructions were simple enough. John nodded and risked one final look up at the pirate but he was focused once more on the blade. Floating a top the water was simple enough, slipping his arms back and forth in an effort to remain steady as his tail brushed the surface.

"Good" Sherlock mumbled. "Very good." John kept his eyes shut tight and tensed the muscles in his stomach, readying himself for whatever would be next. He expected pain but not the velvet touch of unbelievable warm fingers over his tail fin, creeping slowly over the outlines of the scales as they travelled up his tail. His eyes snapped open accompanied by a small gasp.

"What are you - " The words were interpreted by a shout. The pain was incredible. John had been wounded plenty of times before, enough to know that his tail was so much more sensitive than his human flesh and as the blade twisted through hard resistant scales, picking them off piece by piece. He felt as if the world around him were falling away. He wanted to flail. To lash out and swim away but there was nowhere to go where Sherlock could not follow. Soon enough his shouts died away into low hoarse whimpers.

"S - stop, please." He pleaded, trying to raise his head to get a better view of the damage. It had definitely felt worse than it looked. Numerous bloody gaps had appeared where once sparkling blue green scales had been, each about an inch in diameter. The gouges framed by rough splintered flakes broken by the knifes edge but not completely removed. He was given some slight relief as the knife fell away and Sherlock placed his reward onto a small metal tray. It took every bit of courage John had not to swim away to the corner of the take and hide beneath the dark shadow but he knew in the end it would only make things so much worse. Instead he remained as still as he could. Hands still brushing through the water to keep his balance but tail now awkwardly limp and half beneath the surface. The next cry of pain to fall from John's lips was muted by the sheer torture of the blade returning, this time to the raw tender flesh of the open wounds. Staying still was not an option. His tail was squirming, flapping fiercely as he beat down into the water with his arms to swim away. His movements only caused the knife to slice deeper. With no end in sight he allowed his body to become limp, trying to force the pain away as his upper half fell back into the familiar all engulfing darkness. After a few more minutes of incomparable pain he noted the blade falling away and swiftly dragged his tail down to lay flat on the tank floor as salt tears remained hidden amongst salt water.


	4. Blue Eyes

He had planned on taking a few more samples that day but his subject had become agitated. Perhaps that wasn't quite the right word. Sherlock sighed and looked down at the collection of flesh and scales contained on the small silver tray. It hadn't been as easy as he had anticipated and now obvious animosity had blossomed between them which would only make more samples even harder to obtain. Sherlock picked up a slender silver knife and began scratching flakes away from the shimmering surface of a scale. Even now the colours were dim, without the light reflecting from the water. An uneasy weight had settled somewhere in the pit of his stomach and he was unwilling to think on it. Guilt was not something he was accustomed to and for it to invade him now seemed absurd. He had no emotions for human beings, let alone some half bred...He stopped himself. Freak. That was the word he had been about to use. The word that had been turned on him so many times. He frowned. The stone in his stomach twisted unpleasantly and he slammed a fist down onto the table; ink bottles and glass vials shaking from the force of it. John was a natural phenomenon, there to be studied and explored. He had done no worse than what would have become the creature if he had been found by any other human. The wound on his shoulder was a testament to that.

Sherlock's quest for knowledge had taken him all over the world. The freedom and constant adventures of piracy calling to him from a young age. He was unlike most of his crew members. He was not born into poverty or forced into a life of crime because he had no other options. His parents had wanted him to be a doctor, or a lawyer. Some well paid upperclass job that would have driven him insane in the end. So he had ran and found himself stowed away on a ship heading east to China it was easy from there. He knew his intelligence and cool manner frightened people but it made it incredibly easy to manipulate and work those around you to your advantage. He was eighteen by the time he had rounded up a crew, and obtained a vessel. It had been exactly what he had dreamed of, for a while at least. That was 6 years ago now, he thought solemnly and wondered for the first time in over half a decade if it had finally become stale.

Sherlock's eyes trailed wearily over his cabin, surveying the books and treasure he had collected up and hoarded. It was entirely possible that none of it meant - anything. What was it for. He had all of this knowledge, so many capabilities but still no real outlet for them. No use for them except to gather dust and rot away on his shelves. What was the point of having all of this? He had never been one for sharing, had never wanted to give what he had to anyone but he wanted something more than this. It would be more difficult now though. He knew he could never fall back into 'society' and he didn't want to. He looked back down at his collection of samples and slide them away into his desk draw in an attempted to ease whatever was laying so uncomfortably in his chest and sat back in his chair, fingers steepled under his chin as he considered his next move.

Straight away he decided that little good would come of analysing the detestable 'feeling' that seemed to have deemed itself important enough to show up out of the blue. He dismissed it as best he could and went back to detailing the next pieces of his studies. There was no use in considering an alternative lifestyle or suddenly deciding he was unhappy with his lot. In the end happiness was irrelevant. His mind wandered to the current object of his study and the practicalities of keeping him alive ignoring the possible ulterior motive he may have for going back to the tank. He would of course need feeding and his wounds would need to be seen to. If it had been anything else he may have asked his crew but this required a more delicate touch, not to mention they were all terrified of the creature. Sherlock simply couldn't fathom why. He hadn't fought back. Even afterwards he had just slipped back into the sanctuary of the water and lay still until Sherlock had left. It could have shown as a sign of weakness or defeat but Sherlock was sure there was something more to it. It was useless to delay the necessity of it any longer. Infection would be an unnecessary obstacle and he had the means to prevent it. Sherlock jumped up and gathered a few supplies from the shelves before making his way out of the cabin and down to the ships kitchen pondering as he went if mermen ate fish or if that classed as cannibalism.

He had no intention of running around trying to find something suitable for the merman to consume so he grabbed what he could carry from the stores. A collection of fruit, bread and fish and carried them with him down to the ballast tank. Sherlock, although emotionally stunted at least had the understanding that John would probably be hostile so instead of leaping down the steps in his usual over excited manner he took them slowly. With each step the long shadow beneath the surface became more prominent. It was unmoving. Sherlock dropped down the items in his arms onto the lowest dry step and sat down on the damp one below. He yanked off his boots and threw them up a few steps, wincing as the crash reverberated around the tank - so much for creating a calm and quiet atmosphere. Sure enough the body beneath the water flinched and turned though still did not attempt to rise from the water. Sherlock sighed and eased his feet in gently only causing a few rippled to journey across the surface. The coolness was welcome and soothing to his skin and he flexed his toes watching carefully as the merman became more adjusted to the vibrations his movements were creating.

When Sherlock finally spoke he tried to keep his voice soft hoping a kinder tone may bring John out of the water.

"John, I have some food for you and I would like to take a look at your...wound." he cleared his throat. "I'm sure you must be hungry and I really would rather you didn't get an infection." Sherlock held his breath and kept as still as possible until finally the surface broken and two huge blue eyes stared back at him causing the pain in his chest to increase tenfold. Perhaps, he thought, this wouldn't be so easy to delete.


	5. Playing the Game

Playin The Game.

John was torn between two of his most natural instincts. The first to remain safe and the second hunger. The lack of nourishment was becoming painful now especially after the trauma of earlier that day and when he heard Sherlock speaking in cool calm tones which seemed so at odds to the cold scientist he had witnessed before the cramping in his stomach intensified. If he didn't eat he would starve but with little chance of escaping his prison it hardly seemed like much of a choice but in the end his discomfort won out and he rose up just slightly and peered out from the waters edge. His eyes locked on to Sherlock's within seconds though he didn't speak, his mouth still hidden beneath the surface. He looked around for any sign of danger but nothing presented itself. He blinked a few times and swam forward a few feet, still far enough to be out of the other man's reach. They remained silent for a long while and as he swished his tail beneath the water each movement cause a sharp influx of pain which only served to remind him that this pirate was not a friend. He remembered the first time he had seen Sherlock and the awe he had inspired, the magnetism of his naivety was enough to make him feel ashamed of himself.

John rose up so the his chin rested just above the water and opened his mouth to speak, closing it again in a matter of seconds. What was there to say? Before he would have given so much to be able to have a conversation with another person, someone who appeared like minded and unprejudiced. For a while at least he thought that was what he had found but he had been so wrong and now there was just nothing but silence. Worse now than it had been when he could swim and hunt and bask in the sun of the smooth surface of sea abraded rocks. The grass is always greener. He sighed and averted his gaze from the pirate captain instead watching his own hands as they batted back and forth creating small waves in the water. He could hear Sherlock rustling from his place on the steps but he didn't look up. No matter how much he thought he should or how much his mind told him he should be more aware, because he found himself in a position in which if anything bad were about to happen to him there was little he could do to stop it. Whatever it was he had been expecting it wasn't the break in the smooth water surface, or the vibrations coursing through him as another body waded into the water. He looked up in surprise only to be greeted by the gaze of sharp grey eyes just inches from his own.

It was difficult but John showed no fear. None of the unease that was settling over him as the body that had inflicted such pain had become steadily closer until there was hardly anything between them at all. He had all met danger head on and that wouldn't change, even if he was running into something that he had no chance of getting away from. Some may called but to John there was no point living unless you could spend as much time as possible feeling alive. Feeling slightly more confident he opened his mouth and managed to speak though his voice was quieter than usual.

"I didn't think you'd be back today." He mumbled. Sherlock nodded slowly and tilted his head. John wasn't quite able to decipher the look that was gracing the other man's face but he could see the embedded sorrow in his eyes. At one time he would have felt sympathy and perhaps stupidly, some part of him still did.

"You need food and I need to tend to your lacerations." Sherlock stated. His voice maintaining it's calm edge from before not betraying for a second the cold heart that really beat in his chest. John turned away for a second and nodded. It felt odd. To be taking any kindness offered to him by this man but he had little choice. He knew little of human ways but even in the short time he had spent upon Sherlock's vessel he knew the captain had ulterior motives. Keeping John alive was just part of a bigger plan he had no doubt about that. He wanted to allow himself to hope that something would change. Maybe he would become less of an interest when Sherlock came across something more worthy of his attentions, or perhaps the chance of escape would appear in time. John bit down on his bottom lip silently accepting the offers. If he had any chance of being free again then he would play this game, and play it well.

"Food would be good, thank you." After what had happened the words of thanks falling from his lips practically burned. He wondered if Sherlock could see the insincerity behind his eyes. "Then I would appreciate your help with my tail." As much as he didn't want Sherlock going anywhere near his appendage it needed cleaning and possibly something to soothe the pain. Sherlock shot him a smile and waded back to the steps offering out and odd looking fruit John had never seen before. He took it wearily and bit into it. the bitter taste flooded over his tongue and he began to splutter and cough. In one swift motion he had thrown the disgusting item at the captain and was poking his tongue into the water to try and remove the taste.

"I apologise but..." Sherlock was trying hard not to laugh as he peeled away the skin of the fruit to reveal the orange flesh. "You're supposed to peel it before you eat it."

John frowned and snatched the newly peeled fruit from Sherlock's fingers. he eyed it again suspiciously before taking another bite. Much better. It was the best thing he had ever tasted and the pleasure he found from finally having something to eat was completely indecent. It was soft and sweet and the juice ran down his throat like some reviving elixir. He finished it off quickly and licked his lips only pausing in his movements when he noted Sherlock staring at him with eager eyes. John's cheeks reddened and he wiped away the remainder of the spillage on the back of his hand.

"I take it you enjoyed that then?" Sherlock smirked but it held no trace of mockery, just satisfaction. John bit down on his bottom lip and nodded.

"It was - new and..." He paused, unwilling to show Sherlock just how pleased he was with what he had been given. "Enjoyable." John smiled softly then caught himself. Smiling kindly at the man who had, a few hours previously, been slicing into his tail was not at all appropriate. He scolded himself inwardly and then he scolded Sherlock's easy charming smile and became determined to be as awkward and ornery as possible.


	6. This is Going to Sting

If he were being honest things were going better than expected. Open hostility had been kept to a minimum and John seemed more suspicious than angry. Sherlock watched with a glint in his eye as John bit down into the peeled fruit and any signs of unease just seemed to slip away. It was an interesting sight, John's reactions as he ate it down hungrily, humming and lapping at his lips. Subconsciously Sherlock found himself running his tongue over his own bottom lip and quickly stopped, brow furrowing as he inwardly chastised himself. There was no need for that. He had already decided John was quite enough of a distraction without anything else clouding the already strange and perverse relationship that seemed to have come together between them. A relationship built on fear and interest, experimentation and pain. Sherlock hadn't regretted his decision to wade into the water. It was an attempt to approach John in a way he could separate from their earlier encounters. Sherlock wanted him to feel comfortable. If he was to gain any more information it would be easier like this, now he had takne the physical samples he required. At least, for now. He disregarded the discomfort in his chest. Pushed it away somewhere deep and dark so he didn't have to think about what it meant.

Sherlock worked his way back through the water and stepped up onto the first step. Looking toward John, he motioned his head.

"If you come closer and lay on your back I would like to tend to your wound." He kept his voice level and wondered just a little too late about the way his words seemed to have been tinged with remorse. John eyed him up and down until finally he gave a single curt nod. With one swift movement John had launched himself backward, slamming his tail down to the surface of the water as he went and spraying Sherlock with a generous amount of salt water. His eyes stung as he gasped and spluttered the bitter taste flooding down his throat and turning dry brown curls to a wet flattened mess. Sherlock's head snapped up and he rubbed at his eyes with clenched fists. He looked down at John through blurred vision but the merman showed no sign that anything out of the ordinary had taken place. He lay there on the surface of the water, running his hands back and forth and his tail from side to side with just a hint of a smirk gracing his face. Sherlock opened his mouth as if about to speak then closed it and shook his head. Repeating the motion a few times before realising how utterly ridiculous he must look and how much he detested John for making him speechless. He was Captain Sherlock Holmes and he always had the last word. Not this time. He shot John one last burning look and reached up to a higher step to retrieve the spirits and bandages he had acquired and set them down at easy reach.

"This is going to sting." He muttered. Sherlock tore a strip of linen binding and doused it in the alcohol. Slowly he rested it over the gaping wound, the tips of his fingers scratching over broken scales and raw flesh. John grimaced but kept his mouth shut and his jaw clenched as Sherlock worked. No matter what John may think of him, he was no sadist. He finished up as quickly as he could but left the wound unbandaged the water would render it useless. Sherlock discarded the materials on a high up step and walked heavily back through the water toward the creature. John had moved back now, further down the tank and his tail was behind him cutting through the water like a knife. The way he moved, the way his body just seemed to blend in with ripples and small waves kept Sherlock silent for a while as he observed. Wondering briefly if he had ever seen something quite so - beautiful. He swallowed thickly, shaking his head to rid himself of so many unhelpful thoughts. Ideas and wants that hadn't troubled him for years. Needs that he had been happy to leave behind him. He could tell John was beginning to feel uncomfortable under his gaze so he averted it and opened his mouth once again to speak, thankfully this time he managed it.

"I understand you must be angry John." Sherlock paused for a moment before continuing, "It was nothing personal, but you must understand in turn how unique you are. The samples were necessary."

John looked back at him with wide eyes and Sherlock couldn't quite decipher the emotion behind them.

"I trusted you." John whispered.

Sherlock looked down at his hands as they skimmed through the bluey green drawing abstract patterns in the water. Trust. John had trusted him. Nobody trusted him. He was a freak, a sociopath, manipulative and devious not to mention the overwhelming fact that he was a pirate but then to John pirates must just seem to be the same as any human. With no social hierarchy or class divisions John had nothing but first impressions. A first impression which he had gripped by the throat and torn to pieces. Sherlock sighed and rubbed at his still stinging eyes.

"I could have told you from the beginning that was a bad idea." He took a moment to look around the tank. The old damp wood and delaptated stairs, the way the water moved with the rock of the ship. His freedom that had turned into some kind of prison.

"I'm not safe. I'm not kind. I won't look after you or care for you." He brushed a few damp stray hairs from his face. "You are alone here and so am I. I suggest you get used to it." Sherlock was begging for John to shout at him, to do something other than look at him with those damn eyes that seemed to be pulling at the very edges of his being, taking him to a place he had no intention of going and no wish to be but John simply frowned.

"You could have killed me and taken what you wanted. You could have gotten your answers and then thrown me back in the sea but you've kept me here. So maybe you are alone, and maybe so am I but for while at least we were alone together." He trailed off, his voice heavy with resignation. Sherlock looked on, not at John but past him. His eyes were glazed and hurt. No. Not hurt. He turned as swiftly as the water allowed. His clothes were wet and heavy and as he trudged up the slippery wooden stairs he looked down at the provisions he had brought.

"Eat. You'll need to keep up your strength for tomorrow." The ominous words hung in the air between them like ice and after a few seconds Sherlock was gone. No matter how much he had wanted to, he didn't look back.


	7. Worth Their Weight in Gold

The next time John saw the pirate he was more prepared. With hours alone in the tank he had been able to spend his time listening and feeling the sounds of the ship through his body and the vibrations in the water as they danced over his skin. He became more alert to when people were near and how each foot differed. Sherlock's steps were always light and a few times he had hovered just at the top of the steps. John wondered why he didn't just come down. He had shown no fear before, no remorse for his actions if anything leaving the threat of more pain hanging between them. So why then did he hesitate? It wasn't until hours after the first sign of the captain that the man in question finally dropped down onto one of the lower wooden steps and dipped his feet into the water. It had become a sort of greeting between them now. Sherlock's feet caressing the water and in turn the water would caress John. It was the most intimate feeling and something which ultimately frighten him. John didn't wait to surface. There was no point delaying the inevitable. If more pain was to come he would take it readily. No fear. No weakness. The way it should be when one faces their enemy.

His feelings were conflicted. In his mind he had just called Sherlock his enemy. It was such a leap from a few days previous when he had looked upon the God like figure. Majestic and astounding in his beauty and now it had become this. Something he feared but just could not leave alone. The pirate was dangerous to be sure, and it was that which John craved more than release, more than the pain and knowledge that he lived. He wanted the thrum of excitement in his cold veins and the anticipation of every move to come. Keeping him constantly on the edge. It was his ultimate weakness. The reason why he had been injured so many times before and now it was drawing him to the pirate like some sick magnet. Unable to stay away because every time he sat down on those steps John would rise and swim forward. Would greet him and offer himself out and in return he would get the same cool interest. But not this time. This time something had changed.

Sherlock's eyes were still fixed on his, still an indescribable shade of blue but the wave that danced beneath them had changed. The cold glance seemed to have thawed and as they watched each other closely Sherlock began to pull of item after item of clothing. His chest was quickly left bare. Pale skin taut over muscular shoulders and long, strong arms. John swam back just a little, cautious as to what would happen next and unable to understand the change which seemed to have taken place in such a short period of time. Many things between them were unspoken. Considering the time they had spent together the words they had exchanged were few and it was that way now. Just watching and observing. Trying to anticipate what would happen next, what the other's reaction would be. Finally Sherlock was down to his undergarments and was slowly stepping into the tank. His feet touched the bottom and when he stood at full height the water line came up to his pectorals, splashing and dancing over the skin.

John looked on in awe, disgusted with himself that despite everything that had happened Sherlock was by far the most beautiful creature he had ever laid eyes on. For one inexplicable moment he wanted to reach out and touch. Though he would fight men and monsters and anything else that threatened him, the foot that stood between them was too much of a leap for John to take so he watched instead. The time went by slowly each waiting for the other to speak. Each feeling as if they deserved some kind of explanation. But what did he owe this man? What had he done that had brought about this turn around? Sherlock was eyeing him as if he were more than just a curiosity now but as if he were necessary. It was something John had never been before in his life. Necessary.

It took him by surprise when Sherlock finally spoke. His voice somewhat different now. It still held the air of cleverness but the deep tones seemed more at ease.

"I don't do this often." He stated quietly and after keeping eye contact for so long Sherlock seemed to be looking anywhere he could that wasn't at John. John shot him a questioning glance and then when Sherlock still didn't look his way he spoke for himself.

"Don't do what?" He questioned. The pirate's head snapped up as if he were surprised John was even there. Expecting to look up and be alone. John swam forward until they were closer than they had ever been before.

"Don't do what?" He repeated now he had finally recaptured the captains attention. Sherlock's body stiffened and the water around him sent waves of vibration over John's scales. Some prickling with pain but somehow that seemed like a rather distant memory. Though something tugging in the back of his mind told him to be cautious. To not forget just how dangerous this man could be. After a few seconds of waiting his question was finally answered.

"Apologise." Sherlock said curtly then continued apparently worried if he didn't do so now he would change his mind. "What I did to you. It was wrong of me. After further reflection - " He paused. "Well, we have more in common than I once thought."

John wanted to look away then. The intensity of the pirate's gaze bore into him and he felt as if his entire being were being read out like a book. read and catalogued and kept in an archive somewhere deep in the corridors of Sherlock's mind. John stuttered a few times, opening and closing his mouth as he continuously changed his mind as to whether he wished to reply. What would he even say? It wasn't alright. None of this was alright. This backwards apology because what it really meant was I'm sorry I made things awkward but you're still my prisoner. John was well aware that words were cheap but when they fell from that mouth in that baritone whisper he couldn't help but believe them to be worth their weight in gold.


	8. The Human Condition

Sherlock had always been able to view situations from the outside. Consistently capable of keep his distance and not letting emotion cloud his judgment or affect his decisions. He had always been under the impression that human emotion was a defect he was able to control, something that did not aile him in the way it affected others. Anger, guilt it was all useless. So why now? Why did one insignificant creature have to appear from the outskirts of nowhere and create such an incomprehensible change. It was unbearable. He couldn't think, couldn't settle to anything as he sat fidgeting at his desk chair. He had been trying for a few hours to settle down and focus on the samples he had obtained the previous day but every time he looked down upon the blood stained scales and carved flesh a sick feeling rose up in his stomach, twisting and pulling at his insides until he had to hide them from view. John. That was what it came down to in the end. There was no other logical explanation. none of this had been a problem before the creature had been dragged aboard and confined. The creature with the glistening tale and the painfully blue eyes the image of which Sherlock couldn't quite burn from his memory. The crew would have called it magic but it was simply the human condition although he once had felt that both were equally ridiculous.

It was easier to grasp the situation than it was to figure out a reasonable solution. The easiest way to appease his guilt would be to simply let the creature have it's - his freedom but Sherlock had always been selfish. Just the idea of watching the hybrid figure disappear beneath the sea was enough to make him feel discomfort. It was not an option. Not now he was so invested even if it happened to be against his own nature and will. So what then? Build a bridge, create some way in which the merman may forgive his actions and allow them to carry on along a course of mutual respect. It was improbable now that any foundation built between them could be strengthen. His frustration was quickly reaching boiling point. Sherlock wasn't used to being faced with a problem that he could not solve, that he could not even consider rationally. But here it was and he had never been one to back away from a challenge. His eyes drifted to the dirty glass where streaks of sunlight flashed in allowing the dimly lit cabin a burst of natural illumination. So the sun had risen finally and the night had passed with little to no headway where John was concerned. Soon it would be time to re enter the tank. He needed to make a decision. Perhaps that was the answer. To face this head on with no plan. Emotion was irrational and unconventional so why attempt to apply logic to an illogical problem. So it was decided. Sherlock took one last deep breath and got up from his desk, leaving the sun drenched cabin to step into the unknown.

This was more difficult than he had anticipated. He paced back and forth, snapping and shouting at random crew members as they passed him by. Giving out ridiculous orders just to have something to do, to find some excuse not to take the final few steps into the tank. His fear was not of the creature that resided there it was of what that creature had managed to do to him in a matter of days. The world had been turned on it's head and where once had been understanding and certainness lay a wreckage of uncertainty and chaos. Each time he came just a step closer and would stand and listen for signs of movement anything to make him aware of the John's position or mood but all was silent except the small splashing of salt waves on the damp wood and the tell tale creak of a ship sailing through the sea. On his fifth attempt Sherlock was more determined. He only had to look at himself now to feel an air of disgust of what he had become, or was very close to becoming. He didn't feel fear. He wasn't suppose to feel at all. He gripped his curls tightly and pulled the sharp tang of pain doing nothing to distract him from what needed to be done. He let out a low growl and for once, without even thinking, stepped down into the ballast tank one step after another until the dark silhouette under the water became as clear as the day.

Sherlock had entered the tank bare foot and instead of sitting stepped straight down to the step just below the water line allowing one to caress the cool liquid, running it back and forth to create small ripples of welcome. He had been expecting hesitation especially after the way things had been left yesterday. With the threat of more pain tightening the atmosphere between them. He should have learnt by now not to expect the expected where this being was concerned. Without fear or a single sign of misgiving John rose from the water and Sherlock's eyes followed beads of it as they dripped and trailed over the muscled torso to disappear back to where they had came. He shook his head. Now was not the time for that. That was a whole other issue that he couldn't bare to think on just then there was quite enough new emotions and experiences to be getting along with. Sherlock hadn't planned it, but it seemed like the right thing to do. Slowly he shrugged off his coat and chucked it back up the steps. His fingers flicked open the buttons of his loose white shirt to reveal the marble skin beneath and he discarded it along with the light cotton trousers he wore. He felt exposed, more so than he ever had before and it was a welcome relief when he stepped into the water, using it as a hiding place.

Finally it had come down to this. Each of them staring at the other, Sherlock laid bare physically and soon enough even more than that. The last time he had apologised had been when he was a child. He couldn't even remember why. But he would remember this. There was no question of that. The way the creature looked at him made the very atoms of his being burn and for once Sherlock Holmes was the one having to look away.


	9. What it is to Want.

For a long while there was nothing but the sound of water splashing against the damp, rotting wooden sides of the tank and the steady breathing of each of them. They were close now and John once again found himself soaking up the sight of pale skin that seemed to stretch for miles. A tight, toned chest leading down to the plane of the pirate's stomach and the small trail of hair that disappeared as the surface of the water bobbed with the movement of the ship. He wasn't ashamed of his curiosity, though he found himself blushing when his eyes next met those of the pirate captain. He looked mildly interested, as if every second he was monitoring and cataloging John's reactions. It was different from before, the stare held none of the scientific coolness it once had but a strange warmth lay hidden between the ever changing eyes. John swallowed, still determinedly trying to figure out what to say to break the silence that sat awkwardly between them. He could accept the apology and in a way accept his fate. It would be easier but it would also be a lie. He could still feel the dull throbbing ache in his tail and the shards of broken trust that lay heavy on his mind.

"I'm not sure what you want me to say." John said finally, eyes wide and hands fidgeting just beneath the surface.

"I believe social norms would have you accepting my apology." Sherlock replied quietly, though his eyes were sharp and alert. John's brow furrowed as he considered the situation. The way Sherlock stood before him, half dressed and lacking the pride in his demeanour that had been so prominent before. There was something humbling about it, something that made John want. He hardly knew what it was to want or what it was that he craved but he knew the man before him held the answer. John nodded slowly.

"And it won't happen again." It wasn't a question despite knowing there was nothing he could do to prevent it if it were to happen again. The man in front of him nodded minimally.

"I have yet to analyse the samples I obtained from before, I find myself unable to view them as simply a part of a scientific experiment. I'm loathed to so much as look at them." Sherlock replied softly, taking the smallest of steps forward toward him and John did not back away, remaining steady with his tail swishing in the water beneath him.

"The crew fear you, you know." John looked up from the water as Sherlock spoke once more. He frowned and shook his head.

"Fear me? I'm your captive, why should they fear me?" He asked quietly attempting to find some reason behind the apparent discomfort the other's on the ship felt with his presence abroad the vessel.

"You're not supposed to exist." Sherlock whispered, drawing ever closer. "You're supposed to be a myth. A fairy tale. A siren of the sea sent to seduce and destroy." John looked up at the man with a look of mingled humour and disbelief. He was almost laughing when he answered.

"Seduce and destroy?" John chuckled. "You make me sound much more interesting than I really am." He admitted. "My life was mostly spearing fish and laying on rocks in the sun trying not to get captured and as you can see I did a pretty bad job of that." He shot Sherlock a lopsided smile and was given a small laugh in return.

"There's nothing wrong with curiosity, John." Sherlock replied quickly.

"I would have agreed with you before." John muttered with a single eyebrow raised.

"But you haven't stopped, being curious I mean."John shook his head and could feel the heat rising to his cheeks painting the tanned skin with the shadow of a blush.

"I don't mean to stare." He whispered. "I have never been so close to a human being. Our kind they don't..." He paused. "Humans are not generally liked. My fellows were vicious, it's why I left. But you are, different." John admitted, not allowing himself to meet Sherlock's eyes again for fear he may betray something of himself to this man he hardly knew yet he felt as if he could have known for a life time.

It struck John as odd, this was the most they had spoken since he had been pulled aboard and despite all that had come to pass speaking with Sherlock came easily. Just as it was easy to listen to the dark baritone of the pirate's voice or even feel the vibrations as they passed through the water and over each of his scales.

"Yes I suppose different is one word for what I am." Sherlock sighed softly and looked away. "You're not the only one they fear." He muttered, inclining his head toward the old worn stairs. "They crew my ship because I pay them well, most of them would be happy to see me drown."

"Well I take it you didn't cut them apart for samples." John murmured, eyes glancing up and resting on a small guilty smile that seemed just a touch out of place.

"Nothing of the sort. I have no interest in studying the dull and idiotic."John snorted.

"Should I take that as a compliment?" The look on Sherlock's face appeared thoughtful and after a second he gave a small nod.

"Yes, I think you should." A few moments passed before he spoke again. "And that in itself is something, I don't give out idle compliments." John smiled, he had no trouble at all believing that though he did wonder how a man could go so long around people who feared and even hated him but then perhaps it was simply better than being alone.

A still quiet seemed to fill the space, warm and comfortable despite the silence and it gave him a chance to reflect. He understood the dangers he was faced with. The knowledge that he knew next to nothing of the pirate or his true motives or even what would happen to him next. But there were two things he did know. One, this was far better than being alone and two, he was completely fascinated and utterly invested in Sherlock Holmes.


	10. Interlude - Mutany.

It would have been ridiculous to say the sky was darker at night now, that storms seemed to pass over head and danger thrummed along with the electric static in the air. At least that is what the captain would say. The crew however...First Mate Greg Lestrade turned with a heavy sigh to the others sitting around, talking, whispering. you didn't need to hear them to know what the whispers were about. The captain and the creature.

For him the title of first mate was more of a default, it gave him more responsibility. By which he meant he ran the ship while the Captain rushed off in a flourish and forgot about everyone but himself. Until now. But he was by no way Sherlock Holmes' first anything and as for a mate? He snorted and shook his head. Greg cursed himself for ever letting them bring the damned thing on board. Thinking at first it had been a shark or an over large fish but God not that, not something that shouldn't even exist.

So it had begun from that moment and Greg had hoped to God it would be another one of the Captain's phases, something he could just show a brief passing intrest in and then kill or throw back into the ocean. Days had past now and no matter what Holmes said about him, he was not an idiot. As if they hadn't noticed the change in him. Regular visits down to the ballask tank, paying even less attention the crew and their needs than ususal. If Sherlock wasn't careful he was going to lose it all. And people were looking to Greg to start the mutany.

In any other circumstances even the thought would have been laughable. The Captain knew what you were thinking before it even crossed your mind but now - well, food supplies were running low and although Sherlock Holmes may not have gotten into piracy for wealth and adventure most of his crew had and they were growing restless. It was quickly turning into an irreversable situation and the control was quickly slipping through the Captain's fingers. If he did not make a move soon somebody else would and at least he had half a brain to make it work.

Greg had quickly dismissed talking as an option. Holmes spent most his time in the tank now and he'd be damned if he was just going to stroll into the pool with the beast that now resided there. Did he believe the myths and legends? Christ even he didn't know but he did know this - creature this - thing, should not exist and the sooner it was off the ship the better, the happier the crew would be and if that meant sending Sherlock over board with it then so be it.

With his decision made Greg stood up, walking past the others to the top of the deck and standing over them. With the small flick of a wrist, the gesture of one single hand they crowded around. It proved how long it had been coming, the way each one listened carefully. None of the others had liked Holmes from the beginning and now Greg had handed them the perfect plan of action. A weight rested uncomfortably on his chest, a deep seated unease that he couldn't quite shift but whatever happened now by the time the sun went down tomorrow evening the Captain and the creature would be released to the ocean and may it have mercy on them - for all of their sakes.


	11. I Want to be Free

There had been change, of that he was certain. The atmosphere on the ship had shifted and although he was seemingly incapable of understanding human emotion or even normal social interactions he was clever enough to understand in which way the wind was changing. It was morning now, or at least he assumed it was. Knowledge based on the eerie sunlight streaming in through dirty glass.

Sherlock lay with his feet dangling from the arm of the small couch in his private quarters as he analysed the situation.

Yesterday had been a productive day. He and John had progressed somewhat in the stages of this strange relationship they had built up over the past few days. It had been late when he had resurfaced and the first thing he had noticed was the silence. His crew members were extremely competent when it came to drinking too much and being rowdy but as he stepped up from the tank the sounds in the air were filled with nothing but quiet muttering and the familiar sound of the waves splashing at the bow of the ship. There was no denying it had made him uneasy as he watched them, grouped around in the darkness; still unaware of his presence. Sherlock hadn't bothered addressing them but as he made his way down to his cabin, across the deck of the ship he could feel every set of eyes burning through him. It was a relief when he finally got the door closed behind him.

It would be foolish to assume he was safe, it was a common mistake among pirates, to believe you are untouchable simply because you captain a ship. He should have known, should have been more aware of what was happening around him; he had been taken in and distracted yet still he could not blame the creature that enthralled him. There were only two main objectives now, self preservation being the second and the protection of his merman the priority. If they both made it from this ship alive Sherlock would see it as a result. Luckily he had an advantage, being that he was not an idiot and that the majority of the crew, if not all, were. Timing would be essential to. In his interest and enthusiasm where John was concerned he had neglected to account for the effect of fear, hunger, greed and the change that came that night must have been gradual but how long had it been brewing. Was this all John's doing? Or was he simply the catalyst?

Sherlock sighed as he sat up, rubbing restlessly at his face with the palms of his hands. He had never been one for talks or negotiation and he had the unsettling feeling that the time for that had already past. He got to his feet and stalked back and forth across the length of the room, still only half dressed from his foray into ballast tank. He stopped still before the window, letting warm rays of sunlight heat his pale skin as he considered what would happen next. If it came down to a fight they would not win. Images of John being dragged from his sanctuary and tortured in the dry, unforgiving sun plagued him; for once noting that his usual selfish default seemed to have an override after all.

A decision had to be made and soon, he stepped over to his desk; unrolling a discoloured sheet map and holding it open with the weight of his brass microscope. They were currently sailing just east of the Caribbean. A small nondescript cluster of islands had been marked in ink somewhere to the south of their current position. It would act as a fall back, if the worst were to happen he could get John into the ocean and take whatever was to come but if he could get them both to safety then he would.

With one final look at the bearings he turned on his feet. Still in a state of undress and not giving one thought to propriety he pushed open the door to the cabin, ignoring shouts and stares as he passed over the deck and took the familiar steps. He didn't even pause this time, simply wading out into the water and smiling despite himself as the familiar figure rose from the water to greet him. For a moment he almost forgot the danger. Those ever blue eyes bore through him such as every time John's gaze met his own, but there would be time to think on that later, there would be time. There had to be.

"We have to leave." He started, then as if from nowhere he realised that even while trying not to he was being selfish, incredibly so.

"I mean, something is not right. My crew underestimate my ability to prempt a situation because all of them, are incredibly stupid but soon something will happen and neither of us are safe. I can set you free." Sherlock paused again but John's face displayed no fear nor gladness.

"Or we can leave together. The logistic may be difficult but I'm sure I ca find away to get you out, back into the water. We may have to wait until darkness has fallen but I assure you I won't fail you." For the life of him he didn't know why it was so important to make that clear but it was.

Then silence fell, thoughtful, almost distant. John's gaze never wavered, looking to Sherlock as if he had happened upon something reasonably interesting and wanted to take a closer look. Without much though Sherlock stepped forward, reaching though not quite touching the tanned skin that lay out as a tempting plane before him.

"They want to hurt you?" The merman finally spoke. "They want to hurt you because of me?"

Sherlock shook his head. "I'd imagine it's been a long time coming. As I said last night. Most of them would be happy to see me drown."

For a few moments the quiet fell again.

"I want to be free." John stated quietly and Sherlock paled.

He had to take a few breaths desperately reminding himself not to betray his feelings or emotions. Not to reveal that particular weakness when he needed his wits about him now more than ever. Before he had a chance to reply John was speaking again, with more confidence and defiance.

"I want to be free but I don't want to be without you."


	12. I Will Give it to You

"I want to be free but I don't want to be without you."

The words had come so easily and held so much truth that John felt no shame in saying them, though perhaps he should have after having only known this man a matter of days. For him however, it was enough to instill the knowledge that wherever this human was, he also wanted to be. The likelyhood of them escaping together and finding a place where they could co-exist seemed pretty slim in John's eyes but he couldn't help but believe the captain's reassurances. Sherlock's pale hand still hovered between them, to scared to make that final step; so John took it out of his hands. He swam forward until just the tips of the pirates fingers rested on damp smooth skin on his chest just above his heart. It was the only encouragement he needed. The pirates skin was cool, a small gasp falling from John's parted lips as the marble palm flattened over his heart; causing the rhythm of the organ to increase in tempo. The air around them was thick, a tundra of intensity and the edges of something unresolved that John was unable to quantify. Like north and south they were draw to one another being brought to only milimetres apart, gazes never wavering. Blue to grey. Warm and welcoming to cool and calculated.

Without thought or consideration John had mirrored Sherlock's movement, his own hand flat over the other man's heart feeling it's presence no matter how many times he could deny he did not have one. It was solid and beating beneath the skin and John found himself wanting to reach inside, to feel the muscle and sinew; to thank the very fibre of Sherlock's being for the pure fact of his existence.

"What is this?" John asked, voice so quiet the words were hardly even there.

He watched with caution as Sherlock's body tensed, fingers contracting ever so slightly at where they rested on his torso. John feared the human may run or simply walk away but he remained. Still silent, as if lost in a thought that was paining him due to the utter complexity of it.

"Sherlock." John started again, more confident and firm. "What is...this?"

Finally the pirate shook his head, lips parting and then closing; the action being repeated until words finally formed.

"I don't..." The human stuttered. "I've never..." He visably swallowed.

John felt uneasy at being the cause of the humans discomfort, the urge to destroy the final obstacle of nought but milimeteres of air growing every second they stood. Every moment this man tried to explain this ever changing sensation was like a lifetime of waiting but still they waited.

The next thing to really register was the small shake of the pirates head and the distance between them lengthening until the other sat low on one of the steps distorted beneath the waters surface. John remained nearer the back of the tank, swishing his tail back and forth; trying in earnest to keep the look of disappointment from his face. Instead of failing he looked down into the water, watching as his callased, sea worn hands played back and forth creating small waves. He didn't look up again until Sherlock spoke.

"I must be able to concentrate. If I am to get us both away from here safely I cannot afford to get distracted." The human's voice was probably not as sure or firm as he would of wished it to be. John noticed the way Sherlock seemed unable to keep himself still, fingers thrumming on the underwater steps, feet moving back and forth in constant motion. The vibrations tingled their way up his tail, pleasent and familiar.

"And if you can't?" John paused for a moment but started up again before the captain could interupt. "If this was your last chance to say goodbye?"

The merman watched as Sherlock frowned, the question seemingly an unexpected one. John thought that perhaps Sherlock had never really had anyone to question him before or it could even be the magnitude of the question. The knowledge that one of them or both may not make it out of this alive. Even after such a short time John was unable to imagine living in a world in which Sherlock Holmes was not.

"It isn't goodbye, John." Sherlock reassured, though John could hear the uncertainty buried deep. "I will get us off of this ship. Together. Safely." The words were confident, if not a tad too confident as if the pirate were trying to convince himself.

John couldn't just stand there, remain so far away when whatever Sherlock might say it was quite possible that this meeting would be their last. He gradually swan his way over to the pirate, stopping just short of where the steps began; an arm winding around the unstable wooden bannister to hold himself partially out of the water. Sherlock's eyes roamed over his chest, down to where the olive skin was encroached by a blue green shimmer. It was different now to what it had been before, he was no longer being analysed but truly appreciated.

"Please." John pleaded, voice still little more than a whisper. "If you give me one thing before you walk back out into the sun and face them, give me this."

"It's not something I've ever given to anyone before." Sherlock admitted, his hand joining John's on the bannitser as he climbed back down into the water.

John was so shocked he almost tore his hand away, instead his eyes focused in on them. Though the touch was little the warmth that radiated from it heated John's entire body. From the lines at his brow to the tip of his cold blooded tail. He could feel the hot, shaking breath of the pirate dancing over his lips and across his cheeks; slowly drawing him into a trance. Words came to him from a long way away, eyes closing as the low tones flooded his body with something tempting and unknown.

"But I will give it to you." Sherlock whispered.

Through the darkness John felt the fire. It didn't burn but it set alight each and every nerve hidden under his skin. Sherlock's lips were pressed to his own, the curves were soft though the pirate's mouth was dry from the salt water and the sea air. The taste was nothing if indefinable where at the same time it was everything. Delicious and incomperable. A distinct low moan snaked it's way from his parted lips as they kissed and remained with them in the air until they broke apart. John's eyes remained closed, holding himself trapped in the moment for as long as possible before the sounds of chaos rattled down the stairs from the deck above. At least they had this. At least they had goodbye.


	13. I Hope You Can Swim

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A/N Sorry for the delay. Firstly I have been so nervous about writing this chapter that I honestly just kept putting it off, not to mention work and other commitments. I really hope it's okay and hopefully the next chapter won't take half as long. Thank you for all your reviews and support I love every last one.

Sherlock hadn't said goodbye many times before in his life. He was more of the opinion that it was much better for every one if he left without a word. Even when he left his family he hadn't spoke a single word of it, simply leaving into the darkness one night and never returning. What did it mean then? That he couldn't face the idea of leaving John without having shared that kiss. It was all chemicals of course, rushes of endorphins; ridiculous and unnecessary but at the same time so essential. Everything was logical and everything had it's place except that glorious creature that he could still see from the corner of his eye as he marched up the stairs to face whatever awaited him. He broke onto the deck still wearing nothing on his top half, his lower garments drenched and pale chest glazed by salt water. Sherlock momentarily cursed himself for leaving his cabin weaponless but he had been so sure it would take the idiots more time than this to arrange a mutiny.

The sun was glaring brightly, dancing of the gentle waves. The scene didn't seem to fit. Surely it should have been dark storms over rough waters for a battle that would change everything so completely. The crew were waiting for him, weapons already drawn and standing a few strides in front of the rest was his first mate Greg Lestrade. It wasn't difficult to hear the sneers and jibes, words they had been too fearful to exclaim before but apparently this new leader had pumped new life into them. Sherlock snorted, if they wanted money and gold they could have it, all of it; everything he possessed was worthless except the knowledge he locked in his brain and the creature in the tank beneath the deck.

"Lestrade." Sherlock greeted, moving away from the top of the stairs. If there was to be a fight he wouldn't take it to John. "I didn't realise we were having a meeting of sorts this morning." He smirked. "You must forgive my inappropriate attire."

He could see the silver man's eyes looking over his body, trying to make his own deductions about what had happened and what was to come. It was almost enough to make Sherlock laugh, Gregory Lestrade couldn't deduce his way out of sack. He on the other hand could tell that the first mate had been up all night, restless then. Guilty about what he had planned but determined. He'd been drinking the previous evening but had remained sober unlike the rest of the crew who already seemed to have imbibed enough Dutch courage to drain the Netherlands. Sherlock briefly wondered what Greg's amateur deductions had realised, exactly how wrong they were and he though from the sudden look of disgust he could tell exactly what he was thinking.

"As always you are presented with all the facts and jump to the completely wrong conclusion." He sighed. "It really won't be a great loss for me to leave you."

"Leave us?" Greg shook his head. "You think we'd just let you go. Let you take it and run?" He sneered over toward the stairs and Sherlock took and instinctive step back towards them.

"What do you gain from killing me? Except the title of a mutineer. You know as well as I do that even in piracy it is the one label you will not dispel with ease." Sherlock paused, having to think hard about keeping his body language calm and collected when all he wanted was to take John and run.

"We kill the creature. Throw you over board, a single bullet. You're a genius, you know how it works." Greg spat, he was getting angry. Sherlock wasn't sure if that was a good thing or not. Often people made mistakes due to anger, sometimes it made them more adequate. Sherlock looked up into the sky line, the sands of a lone island just visible. He was out numbered and out armed. It would be hard enough to get John from the tank to the ocean without assistance as it was.

Sherlock's eyes scanned the deck, unnoticeable to the rest of them. So slow, so ordinary but not him. He was going to find a way out of this. If it was going to end it would be by being throw into the sea to float away to distant place, it would be with fire; all engulfing every burning. There were stock barrels of rum and gun powder and smaller ones for gas for the kitchen, at an estimate about 12 feet away from him. The gas would cause an explosion but the rate the rum would burn it shouldn't be enough to breach the very bottom of the ship. The gunpowder on the other hand. Sherlock closed his eyes, racing through calculations in his head, working out the rate and speed of the the wind the solidity of the wood. It would be enough to give him the time he needed, enough to get them off the ship before it crumbled into the sea.

Sherlock stepped past the crew and Greg Lestrade, they eyed him warily. He took the step up to the very edge of the ship, looking over with mock fear to the waves crashing beneath. Turning, he reached out a single pale hand. "A weapon then."

Greg remained still for a long while, looking around at the others for support that did not come. Eventually he stepped forward, placing the old loaded pistol by the handle into his old captain's hand. One chance Sherlock, one shot. Miss this and it's over, miss this and the most magnificent thing you've ever had will wither and die. He twisted fast enough that no one had a chance of stopping him, taking aim and shooting into the centre barrel of power. It could have been from spark or friction but the explosion was earth shattering and Sherlock had just enough time to lower himself flat against the deck before splintering barels and shards of broken metal and wood. There was heat and fire and the screams of the crew all breaking the air but he had one aim, one goal. Get back to the tank. Get back to John.

For what was possibly the first time in his life Sherlock crawled on his hands and knees, stopped by a lone crew member. A sharp pain across the side of his face and brief moment of blackness. The taste of blood drenched his tongue and he looked up groggily, head throbbing as he stumbled to his feet to return the favour. With one single fluid motion he flatten his palm and sent it into the man's face with his fist, breaking his nose with a sharp crack. Blood came pouring like a flood, splattering over his bare chest. He took advantage of the man's dazed state, kicking his back just enough that his disorientation sending him crashing to the turning back Sherlock ran the small distance to the stairs, stopping only to pick the handle of the large wood axe just outside the kitchen stores used for the chopping of fire wood and to heave shut the heavy wooden doors to the below deck cabins. Sherlock dragged the axe, clunking down each separate step; threatening to break the old splintering wood as he came lower.

It was a relief to see John there, unscathed with a few streaks of light intruding from new cracks in the top of the tank. Through everything, the chaos and fear; the sight of John made him stop and with a small ironic smile he spoke.

"I really hope you can swim."


	14. I'm Ready

I'm Ready.

The sounds echoed down from the stairs, he swam closer; constantly fearing the worst. Sherlock was up there, his Captain. What a strange idea, to belong to someone in such away. Considering he had spent the majority of his life in search of independence from others of his own kind it was inexplicable that now he was bordering on codependence after a matter of days. What exactly had Sherlock Holmes done to him? That kiss which had been so essential had now faded to something more dream like.

John swam even close to the rotten wooden steps that disappeared under the water, leaning as far up as he could. The sound that travelled down only made him more on edge. Images of The pirate being destroyed, his body broken - bloody, bruised, being thrown from the ship as nothing but a bag of blood and bones invaded his mind. His heart tugged painfully in his chest and he had to swim away; allowing himself to become submerged in the watery darkness.

Time passed, an unknown amount that seemed like years of living before familiar yet heavy footfalls came crashing down the steps. He arose from the water, eyes falling upon a sight that simply forced his heart up into his throat. The relief was astounding beyond any belief or anything else he had experienced. If he hadn't been sure of it before he knew now, he would never leave this man willingly.

Suddenly and without warning they were laughing freely, Sherlock's ability to make light of the situation making it all the funnier. The axe wielding pirate allowing him to forget about the dire severity of the situation for a few glorious seconds.

"Sherlock, I'm not sure this is an appropriate time to be laughing."

Even as he finished speaking he continued to chuckle lowly. John's eyes worked downward to the axe, brow almost disappearing into his hairline as he realised just what Sherlock intended to do.

Of course the genius had taken into account his inability to be out of the water and the lack of dignity and raised danger of getting him up onto the deck when they were under siege.

This though, if he was correct in his assumptions, could turn out to be equally as dangerous. He had no doubt that Sherlock had estimated the possible outcomes. The worst of which would have them both dead at the bottom of the ocean. He shot Sherlock a cautious look and muttered.

"Explain."

SHERLOCK.

'Explain.' Well, when he said it like that it sounded simple. He outlined the plan one final time in his head:

They would have to stand to the side, the force of the ocean when the axe breached the ship would be powerful enough to blow a hole through the would of a substantial enough size for them to escape. The damage to the person side swinging the axe was a little harder to deduce but it was a risk that he would have to take himself. They would have to wait then, unable to escape until the water had settled and the ballast tank was fully submerged. He would require John for air, it was vital but the oxygen created by the merman's gills would be sufficient to keep him oxygenated if passed by mouth for the time they needed.

In all honesty that was as far as the plan reached. Get off of the ship alive. Protect John from harm. The rest would come later if they were given the chance.

Sherlock explained the complexities of the plan to John, watching each sign that showed the merman was about to argue and raising a hand to silence him.

"If we do this we have a chance of surviving. However small that may be we must take it, John."

They waited in silence for a few moments until loud bangs and crashes sounded closer. Soon enough they would breach the doors and it would be over before they even had a chance. Sherlock looked at John imploringly and was rewarded with two simple words.

"I'm ready."


	15. This Is Insane

Chapter 14

This Is Insane.

That was all he needed, ascent from the merman which meant no more delays, especially as the sounds echoing down into the tank became louder and more vicious. Sherlock dragged the axe along the bottom of the ballast tank, beckoning with his free hand for John to follow.

"This is insane." John muttered, following Sherlock to the side with a few swishes of his shimmering tail.

"Perhaps." Sherlock agreed, an arm coming out to guide Joh slightly more to the side, shoulders tight with one another, backs hard against the cool damp wood.

"You'll need to hold on to me, John. Whatever happens make sure you get out. Do not slow yourself down with me if I am injured."

Sherlock ignored the snort that answered and braced himself, waiting for a single strong arm to wrap around his waist. He wanted to close his eyes, to allow himself to become lost to skin on skin and the small shivers that even now inched up his skin like spiders. Soon, Sherlock reminded himself. Soon they could be however it was intended. He turned his head quickly and the arm around his tightened.

The look they shared was brief thought despite its chasteness it lost none of its ferocity. His grey blue being met but endless orbs of the ocean.

Sherlock gripped the axe handle tightly I'm his palms, swinging it back with care. The final movement was swift and strong, bringing the blade crashing into the ancient wood of the ship. For a few moments there was an interlude of silence and then there was chaos.

The pressure of the water sent jets of ocean spray bursting through the wooded barrier, the force of it propelling the axe backwards. With a sick snap and an animalistic shriek of pain Sherlock noted dully that his arm must have been broke by the force of the water. His body flailed backwards into the far side of the ship, losing the support of the arm around him as it slipped away. His head snapped back with a crack sending him into starlit darkness from which he awoke seconds later, dazed and confused.

The first thing to register was the pain of pins and needles spreading from wrist to shoulder, making him look down, eyes finding mangled pale skin and splinters like knifes buried deep into his flesh. The salt water would cleanse of course but as the water level rose and the skin was engulfed by the sea the pain increased tenfold.

He should have been more aware, should have noticed a once the hands dancing soothing patterns on his back and whispering his name as water rose higher and higher. The only thing he could substantiate was the pain and the cold now creeping over his body.

"John." He slurred, groping vaguely into the water, now reaching to his chin. His uninsured hand found skin, slippery and dripping.

"Jo - " Sherlock was cut of by the closure of something warm, over his mouth, the sensation of becoming completely immersed and having air pushed into his lungs was an uncomfortable one. They could have been falling, the sting of water in his eyes forcing the, closed and himself into blackness.

He knew as much as his body was being manoeuvred with careful hands, feeling as if he were being pulled through walls of silk. He knew the touch of slick and rough, of something unfamiliar brushing over his feet, swaying back and forth through the water. Instead of dying the pain had morphed into something closer to a throbbing ache only now there were no comforting words.

Sherlock longed to drink down his own air, fresh and cold from the salt drenched sky instead of the warm and forceful being pushed into his lungs. He forced his eyes open again,. The blurred outline of a face, of magnificent blue eyes so close to his own drew a blanket of calm over his being. There was a foggy recognition of a bright light reflecting above them.

The arms holding tightly onto his body never wavered, always constant. The lips soft and seemingly rough all at the same time. Something so familiar and yet still out of reach.

The haze in his mind seemed to break just as the surface did around the, and those sweet lips were wrenched away, replaced with air and the sick taste of salt on his tongue. Still he was being held, still his body remained flush with another,

John.

Alive.

Sherlock chuckled, head lolling back so his wet curls spread out like snakes in the water.

"You were right." He whispered wearily, gazing up a the creature though bleary squinting eyes. "That was insane.",

A callused hand found it's way to the side of his face, stroking over his jaw and down to the hollow of his throat.

"You're a damn idiot, Sherlock Holmes." John's voice was rough but the anger was superficial, taken over by the more obvious sound of relief. Sherlock's head was tilted up ward, another hand now tangled at the back of his head. For a long while they looked at one another, he noted the way John's chest was heaving, the thin line of a small cut just below the merman's eye and just how suited he was to being out in the ocean. How had he ever thought it was right to keep something so wild locked away?

Sherlock's thoughts seemed to have acted like a magnet, bringing them closer, now sharing air softly rather than brutally as before. He would have spoken, would have asked John to explain exactly what had happened but the words were swallowed. The merman's lips found out his and crushed against them, less of a passionate goodbye and more of a thank god you're alive. It was fierce, desperate - strong hands clawing, his own injured one forgotten in this stolen moment of ecstasy. It could have lasted eons or the briefest of moments - all he knew was he was inexplicably glad that his whole life before this was sinking somewhere in the distance so now he could truly start to live.


	16. The End Of The World

Sorry for the wait. Thank you to everyone who has reviewed and what not! I'm afraid to say an end will soon be met but feel free to bombard me with any ideas or prompts.

Chapter 15

The End Of The World.

It had happen in a series of events which, now he was safe, he would have been happier to forget. The sickening feeling in his stomach as Sherlock was pummelled by force, ripped from his grasp and shoved back into hard unrelenting wood.

John had felt his heart stop, water rushing with enough force to push even him away despite the strength of his tail. That first moment had been the worst by far. Eventually he had been able to struggle across the powerful stream quickly filling the tank and make his way to the Pirate. Sherlock was dazed and injured, his bleeding arm torn and broken.

John grabbed him, pulling them down beneath the water and enclosing his lips without thought over the injured man's, forcing air into his struggling lungs.

In any other circumstance he would have noted how glorious it was to have cool, salt water covering every inch of his him. As it was, the objective was too clear in his mind to be swayed by brief thought or concern.

He dragged Sherlock backwards, one arm tight around his body to keep them close as the other groped blindly behind him in order to locate their escape. Sharp pain came at his palm, which much have been in the form of rotten splintered wood but it was easily enough to ignore.

Even with the tank full the pressure was great and every backwards movement felt like a struggle, most of his strength coming from the need to have Sherlock safe and out of this place.

When they were finally out under the open water the only thing he had to deal with was the added weight of Sherlock's body which he noted weakly was hardly anything at all and the continued thought about feeding air into the half conscious man's lungs.

They broke the surface quickly thanks to John beating his tail back and forth through the water as if his life depended on it. The sun was harsh and bright in the sky. In the tank John had been given no real concept of time, light and darkness had fallen but now he could see the angry burning star in the sky he knew they must be reaching midday. Not that time mattered as he swept away damp curls, whispering over Sherlock's face in an attempt to bring him back.

They exchanged few words, bodies still alight with the vestiges of fear and adrenaline with a sense of immense relief settling over them like a welcomed mist. As soon as they managed to catch their breath it was drawn from them once more in the form of a searing kiss. A picture of desperation and love which shattered reality for the time they were locked together. John had been so sure that their first kiss would ultimately be there last so now he revealed in it, a free hand sweeping up over Sherlock's spine to rest in the wet mess of curls just to keep him closer for that bit longer. He had to remind himself that they had time for this now, as much time as they could hope for.

Breaking away was more painful than he ever could have imagined, cured only by the knowledge that Sherlock remained trapped tightly in his arms. He struggled briefly with the knowledge that eventually he would have to let go,Sherlock would have to travel back onto the land and towards those people who had never rally understood or cared.

Of course there was so much left for the, to survive. He would have been fine but Sherlock's human capabilities for survival out upon the ocean were extremely limited.

"Where are we supposed to go now?" He whispered, keeping a hand above water to stroke back over Sherlock's pale damp cheek. Sherlock offered him a small smile. Eyes wide and alive.

"Do you really have so little faith in me?" The man winced, obviously his arm was causing him substantial pain and John's priorities shifted.

"Well go on then." He hissed a little impatiently, frustration growing when he got a chuckle in return.

"If all went to plan we should be roughly a mile or so from a small island I have visited several times on my travels. It's hardly populated but there is a station of the East India Company. I should be able to retrieve food and medical attention. We can decide on our next move after that."

John nodded slowly, the information should have put him at ease but the ocean was a vast and unpredictable monster. As rough estimates of one or two miles could turn to twenty with the smallest miscalculation.

"East" He heard Sherlock mutter, his grey eyes focused up at the sky, gaging both location and direction.

John would agree of course, Sherlock was after all the navigator; knew these islands perhaps better than John himself. He found himself wishing they could be of the same species, both underwater creatures that could explore the depths of the ocean together. To him it seemed that humans were given so little freedom even in this place they called the free world.

"I will take you anywhere you need to go, wherever you direct me." John answered steadily, his lips sealing after as he considered what might happen once they drew closer to more humans. His experience had been limited of course but even with his small experience of mankind he could see that his kind would not be welcomed or appreciated. He couldn't be caught again, surely Sherlock wouldn't allow it. The thought of becoming another experiment, locked up and hidden away, was bad enough but the thought of being taken from Sherlock seemed like the end of the world.

"You can't let them take me." John whispered, voice small, contemplating the horrific possibilities that may lay ahead. Sherlock answered with a small frown.

"I would die before I let anyone take you, John." The human answered softly. John nodded, wondering if that wasn't exactly what he was afraid of.


	17. Promise

So I may have taken a very, very long break over Christmas and for that I am very sorry. I'm pretty much hoping to finish this by February with more regular updates from now on. Thank you for all the love and reviews!

Promise.

It hardly mattered that they wanted to rest, that either of them, just wanted to sleep and heal the wounds that marred their bodies. Out here in the middle of the ocean may have been just fine for the merman to retreat into the depths but Sherlock needed food, as loathed as he was to admit it. He needed his arm tended to, the numbness spreading up the limb became a growing cause for concern. They bobbed there together for a few moments longer, Sherlock's mind playing happily over the brief moment of intimacy shared between them, lost in hope that it would not be their last.

"It's time to move." John murmured, the creatures breath dancing hotly over his skin as strong arms positioned themselves tighter around his body.

"I guess this will be pretty uncomfortable for you." He sounded concerned but Sherlock chuckled before he replied.

"Because with an arm torn beyond recognition I'm perfectly content." He paused. "I know that you will do everything you can to make this easier for me, even if it is at a deteremnt to yourself. Some people may call that a character flaw."

Sherlock watched as the merman rolled his eyes, considering he had spent so little time in human company he had the mannerisms down to a tee.

"You are the most frustrating..."

John shook his head and Sherlock felt his good arm being hauled over John's shoulder so he now rested easily on the merman's back. It was an odd sensation, feeling the wave of currents beneath the water as John's tailed beat back and forth. Occasionally a flicker of the blue green tail would brush the tips of Sherlock's toes and despite whatever pain he might have been feeling in those moments it was over shadowed by the minuscule tickling sensation.

They began slowly and Sherlock assumed it was more for his benefit, salt water gathered around them, splashing up into his face causing his eyes to stream. He blinked the salt water tears away, coughing out and gagging over the bitter taste as some breaths became tainted by the ocean.  
The further they travelled the worse things became, his arm now painless yet tingling uncomfortably. His head spun, a dangerous mix of dehydration and exhaustion creeping in like clouds, fogging the bright sparks that usually lit up his brain. How ironic it would be, to find this, to escape a fate of near certain death just to fade away into the waves because this human body was not sufficient. The thoughts were selfish, John of course was probably suffering as much as he was. In the brief moments Sherlock opened his eyes he could see small trails of blood mixing in with the water, a strange comfort to know that in this unfathomable ocean they were merging together. It held a sense of permenance. One he feared they would not be able to hold onto themselves.

"Sherlock."

The voice was more like a distant memory than a solid vocalisation, it seemed to travel into his subconscious over crashing waves and the smell of burning wood. Of gunpowder and mutany. Trapped and abandoned in murky water as a decaying ship crumbled around them.

"Sherlock."

It was firmer now, his body being shaken two and fro From the ankles. The knowledge that he now lay on his back rather than his front slowly crept forth. The slow seeping of gentler wavers crashing overs his thighs and hardly reaching up to his chest. Tiny trickles of water dancing down over his knees, and the dry painful burn of his throat.

"Sherlock, I can't..."

The voice sounded desperate, lost even and he fought to open his eyes. They stug and he attempted to blink the pain away, holding the only arm he could move up against the glare of the sun. There was sand beneath him now, his body being lapped gently by the slowly reducing waves which had rolled so harshly in the open waters. They had reached the shore line. John.

Sherlock struggled to reply, still battling to hear the rest of what the creature was attempting to say to him. The voice came from a distance, further away from his body than he would of liked. Slowly, gradually and leaning up on one shaking arm, Sherlock sat and looked blearily down into the ocean. The look of relief on John's face made the sun seem just that bit warmer.

"I can't take you any further. But the humans...they are not far from here I saw..."

Sherlock noted that John's breathing was shallow, though had difficulty in understanding why...

"Get back in the water you idiot." He hissed, seeing John's body in a layer of little more than a few centimetres of ocean.

"You need to...up the beach..."

"I'm not going anywhere until you get back into the water."

He watched the merman shuffle back a few feet, stopping when his tail was fully submerged, though it would only be so as long as he remained laying flat. Gingerly, Sherlock fought his way to his feet, wobbling on the spot to the sound of a small gasp and the splash of a hand reaching out. So desperately wanting to help but made unable by some cruel joke of nature.

"When the sun sets." Sherlock croaked. "Be here."

He turned, feet digging into the sand, the small grains tickling as they bounced over his skin. Sherlock turned back just once.

"Promise me."

The merman nodded.

"I promise."

And Sherlock knew that he would be, as he concentrated on every single step, struggling against each as he walked clumsily through the sand. The only thing providing him with the momentum to reach the top of the beach and the small line of wooden cabins dotted there was the promise still ringing softly in his ears.


	18. This Beautiful Human.

A/N Thank you for your patience. Here is the next chapter. Many thanks for follows, reviews and all of the love. I will be taking requests and prompts for one shots on my tumblr (earhatsarenotmydivision) so if you would like anything please let me know!

And yes...I am having problems with the 'how will they have sex question' but it's okay...because so is John. Enjoy.

Chapter 17

This Beautiful Human.

John watched as the figure stumbled up the beach, his own nerves in shreds as Sherlock tumbled and struggled with clambering up the high dunes to where the humans would be. It was as if a small bed of thorns nestled somewhere in his chest as the figure disappeared from his line of sight and he had to remind himself that Sherlock would get the attention he required and would return for him. He couldn't help the small voice in the back of his head that questioned that fact. Would he come back? Why should he? The pulls of human vices by far out weighed what he had to offer. Besides, how would they live? Would the Captain spend his life just by the shore, it seemed that they were already doomed to fail. Whatever 'they' actually happened to be. In the colonies merpeople were paired off a birth with the mate they would spend the rest of their existence with. John had given up his mate when he left for independence, and he didn't regret it for a second. Is that what Sherlock would be to him? This wild, uncontrollable human. This blinding light, this force to be reckoned with. God he wanted that, more than any language he knew could describe. But would Sherlock?

Right now the question was irrelevant, he backed into the water until he was completely submerged; swishing his tail back and forth until he was someway out and so deep beneath the surface that despite the sun the area was dark. It felt good to be surrounded by salt water, cool, ever moving. The sight of small fish and sea plants drifting through the tropical currents made him smile yet at the same time a sadness inched over him. He would never be able to give Sherlock this freedom, this sense of self. John had a feeling it would suit the pirate quite well. With an entire ocean to explore, with a loyal and willing partner to do it with. Of course it was just a ridiculous fantasy, humans could only become creatures of the sea in children's stories and myths about magic and dragons. With a movement honed by years of practise John swiped out a hand, capturing the slick body of a wriggling fish, inwardly glad that Sherlock wasn't here to seem him when he sank his teeth into the raw flesh and blood bloomed in the surrounding water. You could say what you wanted about ridiculous orange skinned fruit but you couldn't beat the meat and sinew of freshly slaughtered marine life. He watched the bones drift away in the water, the taste of blood and salt mixing as he licked his lips.

He spent the day swimming, beating his tail, submerging himself and realising just how much he had craved to be back here. Freedom had begun to seem less and less likely as each day had passed. From being dragged upon the ship to having cold uncaring steel slice into his tail. John looked down, touching the tender wound that would never really heal. He should have hated Sherlock for what he had done but instead he found himself pining for the man to return. As the sun lowered in the sky he moved closer to the surface, letting the very top of his head and his eyes peer over the calm waters. The later it got the closer he moved to the shore, each foot taken with more care and cautIncase case he were to get caught. Finally, when hope had turned to worry and worry to something much darker, he saw the unmistakable silhouette of Sherlock clambering back down the dunes to the beach. John moved in shore as much as he dare, making sure his tail was still covered in a decent amount of sea water.

"Sherlock." He hissed through the darkness, noting the sling across the mans chest as he drew closer.

Sherlock dropped down onto the sand not a foot away, stretching out his legs so the weak residue of waves licked at his calves.

"Almost sounds as if you were worried I would not come."

John raised an eyebrow, reaching out a hand from the water and laying his damp palm on the arch of Sherlock's foot, stroking lazy lines up and down the skin with his finger tips.  
"I think worrying is going to become something I spend a lot of time doing with you."

He quipped, looking up at the pale figure in the moonlight. This beautiful human. His wild pirate captain.

"Oh stop complaining."

The pirate drew his hand through the water, droplets of it splashing towards John's face. He wrinkled his nose, backing off deeper into the Ocean with a playful smile on his lips.

"What are you going to do about it? Huh?" John's grin widened as Sherlock stood, kicking off the bottoms which clung to the top of his legs.

"I'm going to make you stop."

John almost said something as the idiot threw the sling off, instead he offered Sherlock a disapproving look and kept his mouth shut. The stubborn bastard wasn't about to listen to him and inwardly he was glad as Sherlock began wading into the water to meet him, bringing them close. The wound was bandaged heavily and at least the pirate was making an effort to keep it dry by holding it above the water. He bought himself a little closer, wet hands reaching up and resting either side of the long pale column which was Sherlock's throat. Drops of water tickled their way down his arms, pulled by gravity to the earth just as he was towards this, his sun. And he was more than happy to orbit this man.  
"Are we going to kiss again?" John asked softly, looking up with bright eyes.

"Oh yes...I should think so."

And then they were kissing, dry lips against his damp salty ones. Supple skin which moulded to his own, moving as one single creature instead of two separated beings. It started off much the same, calm, intense. Required. Then the heat came, it boiled up in John's chest, through his blood and down every part of his body. His hands were clutching Sherlock's waist, pulling at him because close was never close enough. A short gasp from one or the other of them found them both battling, tongues meeting and sliding between them. When the time came for them to pull apart John viewed the red swollen lips, the pale moon painted skin and to his shame began to wonder how exactly they could take this further. He never had been one for genetics, but then he was irrevocably in love with a scientist. Perhaps there was some hope after all.


	19. Voyeristic Stars

A/N from this chapter onwards there will be porn. It will appear quite often though of course there will still be a story line. I apologise if it's not your cup of tea. But you have warned.

Huge thanks to mojoflower for the seaside sexual support! Please go and enjoy her Out in the Water! ( /works/673849) Especially if you want more porn. It really is wonderful and somewhat puts mine to shame!

Chapter 18

Voyeristic Stars.

Sex as an idea, one of the many ways to look at it he supposed. One of the only ways he had certainly ever looked at it. Physically abborehent. Or so he had always previously assumed. Whether between man and woman, woman and woman or man and man. Not once in his studies had the concept of inter species intercourse popped up and here he was considering that very option where none of the more usual routes had really interested him at all.

So here were the facts. Nice, solid, quantifiable facts. John was a merman. Sherlock was a human. They had just shared their...Third proper kiss and the reaction of Sherlock's body to the stimulus was extremely unexpected. A man didn't reach his thirty third year without experiencing an erection unless there was something medically wrong with him. He could honestly say he had never had one quite like this. As he stood half submerged in water the throbbing beneath his thighs was like a wanting ache. A heavy weight, throbbing hot in the cool ocean waters. It was enough to make him light headed (of course the blood rushing to the shaft of his penis would have something do to with that.)

Then there was John. No visible genitalia but they must procreate surely? Sherlock blinked, pulling himself out of the string of thought he had found himself lost in. It must have been only seconds because when his vision cleared he was still greeted by John's wide ocean eyes, his body shaking just slightly. Water dripping, caressing the lines of his sun tanned body, tracing lines until each returned to the home from whence they had came.

"I..."

Sherlock paused, worrying his bottom lip between his teeth. Usually he found that a blunt question was the easiest way to get honest answers, but John had proved from the very beginning of their acquaintance that nothing would ever be as it should be.

"I want to touch you."

He finished slowly, eyes focused on the small waves of water crashing softly against John's waist, the line of the homosapien navel that led to he didn't know what. A damp hand slid over the heated flesh of his throat, resting at the very crook where his neck met his shoulder.

"Then touch me."

The whisper was small yet incredibly warm, breath dancing over the shell of his ear, sending shivers of something indescribable over each separate pore on his body. The instruction was clear and so simple but still Sherlock stalled, hands hovering somewhere between them.

"I've never..."

He was cut off by the sharp taste of salt invading his mouth, John's tongue pressing past his lips, taking advantage of the way they parted when he spoke. It was as if the creature was on an exploratory mission, the hand not holding him just out of the water was exploring the lines and shape of Sherlock's body. Kisses which had been so warm and wet shared between their greedy mouths moved southwards, sharp teeth grazing lightly over his pale throat to his shoulder. They may have been differing physically but the noises they made were indistinguishable, grunts and moans which came as proof of the animal which rested in both of them. Sherlock's uninsured arm curled around John's body, only to feel the creature sip away. He faltered, about to scramble forward and ask what was wrong, that alone was enough to prove his naivety for when he finally did look up instead of seeing the moon lit water dripping chest he saw the silhouette of a gigantic tail swish back and forth through the water, the shadow of a human torso and head right there beneath the surface, edging closer to exactly where Sherlock needed him.

"John..."

He croaked, hands dipping beneath the surface to run through the submerged dirty blone hair which lay on his merman's head. Without the advantage of sight, being offered little more than a blurred vision from beneath the water, Sherlock was at a loss when contact was finally made.

Cold, hot, need, want. Broken, incoherent words even as thoughts sparking, alighting. Fire. What was this? The touch of a hand, coarse skin over his soft and mostly untouched. Skilled hands washing like water over his unexplored body. A tight squeeze and Sherlock's head flew back, eyes focussing up on the voyeristic stars whose eyes bore down upon them.

The change in pace from slow and torturous to fast and steady had him mewling up at the sky, biting down on the curve of his plump lower lip until he tasted the smallest hint of copper. The small whines, pathetic little moans that fell so easily turned sharp, rough as he was attacked by a new sensation entirely. A heat engulfing him, the flick of a tongue and the pressure of a soft yet firm sucking.

"Oh holy fuck..."

Sherlock swallowed thickly, his entwined fingers tugging absently, almost clawing from the need to hold on. The honest to God belief that he may just fall from the earth if he didn't have something to hold on to. Without much thought Sherlock's hips bucked back and forth in increments, small bubbles and muffled grunting sound making its way in to the cool air from beneath the ocean. That was the moment he lost everything. The world in it's entirety dissolved, the black sky above him engulfing them in a cavern of blackness.

John's mouth worked over him, pulling back until there was nothing but water surrounding him then the creature was back again, lapping at him like a starving man, tongue twisting, swirling over the slit at the very tip of his cock. All out drinking him in, feeding himself on Sherlock's cock as the length of his was taken so deep. Incredibly deep, until his head provided the image John's lust blown eyes, of the man's throat closing around him. He could feel the tip of the man's nose nestled in the coarse hair at the base of his prick, could sense the desperation so thick between them.

There was no air, no life beyond this. And then even the bare essentials of his existence shattered, hips rocking, convulsing from the power of the pleasure that was surely breaking his body into pieces. Still that mouth was unwavering until the last, until he fell back and was caught by strong sea drenched arms. He was absent, floating in some new sub space, clutching to the body which worked constantly to keep them a float. The soft kiss of lips, now saltier than before and the taste of his ejaculate being shared between them adding a pleasant bitterness.

He had survived being a runaway, sitting in his opium smoke filled cabin every night. He had survived a goddamn mutiny but he wasn't entirely sure that he could survive this or if he even wanted to.


	20. God of the Ocean

(A/N I'm just using this note to apologise for the next chapter. I wanted them so badly to have a happily ever after...)

God of the Ocean.

It wasn't that he was a completely non sexual being, or that he wasn't aware of how to perform a sexual act. It was more the firm belief that he would not be able to do this man justice, laden with the incredible knowledge that Sherlock had little to no experience of this. The taste of semen seeping down his throat, the tang of the man's lips on his own was at least partial proof that he had managed not to be a disappointment. He managed to capture the limp figure in his arms, gingerly holding him close to avoid irritating his injured arm. Whispering soft words of endearment continuously over plump lips and salty skin. Soft kisses on closed eyes lids, in wild damp curls. The beauty of it struck him, lightening splitting the dark skies, breaking thought and feeling. Separating them before welding them back together. Shattered pieces of glass broken and reconstructed to create something with the strength of diamond. Sherlock drifted back to reality in increments, John could feel his uninjured hand stroking the length of his spine to the small of his back where warm skin met cool scales. An adventurer on an exploratory mission. Curious, enamoured. By John yes, but no doubt by the newness of it. These new sensations. He could see the light flickering now the pirate's eyes were open once more, a determination which sent his skin shivering despite the warm shores of the ocean.

"Now exactly what do you think you're doing?"

He teased soft, hot breath directly over the human's ear only to nip the lobe as his mouth traveled to the hollow of his pale throat.

"Returning the favour."

Three words,sounds , universal langue. In that baritone drawl? John could have laughed, as if anyone would have had the power to resist it. And he was supposed to be the mystical 'siren of the sea'. Smooth, interested fingers danced the line of his green blue scales, fluttering from back to side and around to the front. He was positive that Sherlock's knowledge of merman anatomy was lacking but the simpleness of the touch sent him reeling. The way each scale was caressed, played over like an instrument. Then the brief pause as the edge of the healing wound was touched upon. A necessary injury, a pain he would relive a hundred times to be in this exact situation.

"It's fine."

John murmured, a kiss to the corner of the pirate's mouth and another to the centre. A slow lick to the sweet curve of his bottom lip, a quick dip into the deep cavern of Sherlock's mouth.

"It's all fine..."

His hands edged between them, taking Sherlock's by the wrist and guiding it slowly. Eyes now locked, making sure with every gesture that this was where they both needed to be. The change had been a gradual process, the arousal of having Sherlock so hot and heavy in his mouth, the teasing of tongue and lips and the sharpness of teeth biting in to skin. Sherlock had been right, the half aquatic half human body was an amazing piece of biology. It amazed John that humans could feel so confident with one of their most important organs being completely unprotected. Under evolved. yes, he would remember to use that one later, just to see the look on Sherlock's face. A small smile at the thought and his concentration was broken, the movements of his tail faltering as inexperienced yet clever fingers found the edge of the opening about three inches from where his skin ended and his tail began. It was clumsy, unrefined but at the same time it was everything. Intense waves of pleasure lapping over his skin, eyes rolling to the back of his head as he threw it back. Now having to grip Sherlock's shoulders to remain a float.

"Don't stop."

A rough gasp and nothing more, a low chuckled floating over him. Smug bastard. God he wished he had the will power to care. The fan like fins at the very bottom of his tail were near vibrating, the digits probing him deeper. Twisting into the heat, testing and gauging his reaction with each flick and thrust.

"You are beautiful like this, John."

And the hell if he even knew where that voice was coming from. Close yet so far away, a God and a saviour. The devil incarnate. This was what he had been praying too. Now God of the ocean, of sun and sky. There was this man, this...creature of light and darkness. Sun and moon, ethereal in his beauty.  
A low cry, a final gasp. Clenching, jolting and convinced he was close to dying.

"Sherlock..."

That was it - the very moment the sun imploded. The world as he knew it was irrevocably changed in to something he wanted to exist in. The unwavering faith, belief that this man would keep him anchored to this place for the rest of his life and in some strange land beyond. He would have sworn that his chest was being torn in two, rib cage cracking as his heart swelled. The orgasm raging, ravaging him. A howl, shout, prayer, breaking the silence and clapping like thunder in the air.

For a long while after there was silence, the aching kind of quiet. The one which fell between two lovers before a final goodbye, a bittersweet pain that in his euphoria he could not quite place. Not until through the haze he heard the sound of sand muffled footsteps, the glint of a steel blade. The final, brutal realisation that the water around him was running red.


	21. Let Me Show You The Ocean

(So the last chapter...followed by a brief epilogue. It's not as bleak as it seems. Promise.)

Let Me Show You The Ocean.

"I told you."

The voice was dark, unfamiliar and like poison seeping through his skin,

"Pirate."

And then a scream, high pitched and cowardly. Scorching pain in his chest made worse by the sudden movement of his body as whatever held him up forced itself forward with an unbridled growl and more salt water trickled over the wound. End. Please just let it end. A small whisper in his head which repeated one name over and over, the smallest inch of him still unwilling to fall into blackness even if it meant this pain would go with it. John. The noise he made was sick, a word incoherent from the dark blood gurgling from his lips and dribbling down his chin into the water. Even now information from outside still assaulted him, they were scared now. His attacker and the other man. Running back along the beach, sword or knife in hand. Stabbed. Yes, he had been stabbed. Ran through even. The faint remembrance dawned slowly, the dark tone. The doctor who had set his arm, the raised flesh of the cauterized 'P'. How could he have been so stupid? Ah, sentimentality. This chemical defect which plagued him now. this most horrific most beautifully obscene love. He tried to say his lovers name, to try and quieten the desperate shouts of his own or the clawing hands itching over his skin. Begging, pleading, Unable to allow the truth to dawn upon him. But soon enough it would come, whether or not Sherlock wished it to. Whether or not for the first time in his life he had truly felt the need to survive and now there was nothing he could do about it.

Sharp searing pain wracked him, sending his body into harsh convulsions. It was a hand pressing over the wound, no doubt an attempt to stem the bleed yet accomplishing nothing but rubbing salt water into raw and torn flesh and muscle. Gone as soon as it had come, being overridden by the sound of uncontrollable sobbing. For all he was and ever had been he wanted to be able to open his mouth and say I love you. To just remind this creature of the wonderful, indescribable way their bodies had moved. How their eyes had met the first time John had appeared from beneath the surface of the tank. Wild blue, storming, striking him down from the first. Assaulting his complacency his cruelty. Questioning everything he was sure of and turning it inside out. Ripping into his chest and laying Sherlock's own heart on his sleeve. More than anything he wanted to speak, to not be spewing blood like some dying, aging man. New salt touched his skin, a mix of tears. John's dripping down from just above and his own sliding, creating tributaries which became rivers along his cheeks.

"Please."

God it was so broken, so completely devastating.

"Don't, don't leave me I can't...This isn't..."

A pause, a deep silence that bought with it the ability to force open his eyes and looked upon the blurred outline of the creature he had fallen in love with. The acute need to be able to apologise for offering everything and having it ripped away so soon. But he wasn't able. Just a blink, and with each one the picture became less and less definable until the effort of keeping his eyes open became just too much.

"Sherlock. Sherlock please. I'm begging you. This isn't...We're going to see everything, you're going to show me everything you know. All the wonderful things you've seen. Let me...Let me show you the ocean. It;s amazing. The shore at twilight, the depths when the sun is just rising. Our whole lives Sherlock. This...This..."

Another crushing sob broke him off and Sherlock was selfishly glad of it, tears flowing as freely as the blood. The pain was lessening now, a bleak numbness presenting itself in its stead. He had no doubt that John would survive, go back to his life before this. Perhaps Sherlock would become some distant memory, after all he had never bothered to find out how long John would live, how plausible it would be for them to exist together without death coming between them when the other was not ready to follow. His body was ready now though, his mind fighting it for all it was worth just for a few more seconds surrounded by John's arms and then the merman's supple lips pressed to his own. Blood smeared on tanned skin now, not from sight but memory. And there they were, the first time they kissed. The very moment Sherlock knew how this was supposed to end.

"I love you."

And so he had lived, he had loved and even more amazingly he had been loved in return. There was no real reason to wait. No need to offer a goodbye even if he had been capable. Goodbyes were definite, finalising. There was nothing final about this, about the pure love of two souls stretching in a bright light before him. Guiding him home.


	22. Epilogue

(I actually have two different epilogues for this as I had two completely different ideas for how it should end. I may post the other somewhere, someday. But for now. It really has been a beautiful experience. The love I have received has been amazing and I can't thank you enough. The pleasure has been all mine.)

The sand was warm, I knew it was even from where I remained. The ocean lapping over my tail. I'd been watching him for hours, collecting samples and pausing to look at the insects and creatures scuttering across the greenery way beyond the shore line. Every now and then he would turn back to me, pause and then smile. It isn't that I don't remember pain, it's more that the memory of it makes me stronger. Makes this stronger. We have the same dreams at night, hear the same dark gurgling sound which makes me sick to my stomach. But we both wake beneath the sun, in this place which has no name. We share each passing day with nothing but the elements and our own company. We do not age or change, though sometimes when I look upon him I see how he would be. A perfect picture image of death and blood painting pale skin. Ridiculous, he'll tell me. Nothing but a nightmare. Still, he laughs and sulks like a child. My temper rises and I swim away for hours at a time. We always return here, when the calm is restored. We need that, Sherlock and I. The friction, the unwavering devotion which leads us to madness. He's stepping towards me, a shell of some sort laying flat on his palm. Now he'll tell me all about it, because I don't doubt he knows. I smile and watch the hand as it drops the shell to the sand. A slight incline of my head and his hand in mine. I pull him towards the ocean. Far away into the distance. Somewhere out on the rocks.


	23. Alternative Epilogue.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An alternative ending.

"I thought you were busy?"

A small quirk of the head, a devilish smile. I roll my eyes, fingers tap tapping on the side of my mug. 

"I am, extremely." 

"Looks like it."

He shrugs, just looks at me and shrugs. I don't mind all that much, when the scent of him drifts across the space between us and is almost enough to make me dizzy. I don't really mind much of anything. The familiar pain in my shoulder, a blurred memory of a time past. The heat of the sun baring down on me, fire and blood and sand. It was different now, better. Now he's smiling and he bloody well knows my breath is caught in my throat. Standing over me, a hand on the side of my face drawing me upwards. Piercing eyes I could have sworn I knew before they even met mine for the first time. The inexplicable musk that has the slightest salty edge to it. I know he's remembering it to. The first moment we met and that invisible thread tangled our lives together. In seconds, a split second. However long it took to realise or explain, I belonged to Sherlock Holmes the moment I walked through the door at Barts.

They say the love of a sociopath is all consuming, selfish. That he will seek to own and possess, that his needs will always be prioritised over yours but no one elses will ever come close. He charms and provides, lures you in with exactly what he knows you need. Excitement, danger, passion. Everything I assumed lost. People expect me to argue the fact, to contradict and exclaim that Sherlock is just misunderstood. He's not. He's a selfish, arrogant, self involved bastard. One who loves me to such a completeness that I can feel it destroying the both of us from the inside out. I have a feeling that somewhere, at sometime, it has already destroyed us once. Yet here I am, laid bare and beyond willing to do it all again.

We kiss. Nothing new, always spectacular. This man, this goddamn oddity. I remember being a drift, out on the rocks and stranded. But that is what it is. A memory and a blurry one at that. For now I have this man, this genius. My Sherlock, my master, my captain.


End file.
